


In The Land Of Death

by atenebrae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Angels, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Death, Demons, Depression, Despair, Disturbing Themes, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, No Smut, POV Dean Winchester, Parallel Universes, Romantic Fluff, Season/Series 12, Season/Series 13, Slow Burn, True Forms, Violence, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-05 14:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 74,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11015091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atenebrae/pseuds/atenebrae
Summary: Dean thinks he has reached the point of no return: with Cas dead and Mary gone, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to get up again. But when it appears that Jack, Lucifer's son, may not be the destroyer of worlds he believed him to be, he thinks there might be a chance of getting both his mother and his angel back. As the Nephilim reveals, they are trapped in the parallel dimension he opened a door to, both in their own manner.The Winchesters decide to get them back at any cost, even if that means entering a universe destroyed by a war between Heaven and Hell. Dean thinks the biblical creatures and scorching earth may be the greatest obstacles, but he soon finds out the only way to get his Cas back, is to meet the one from that cursed land, one who never met him, one who never learned to love humanity.And no matter how strong he believes in getting Cas back, there'll always be something - or someone - to stand in his way...





	1. Muddy Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, this is my new fic!  
> This was inspired by Season 12 finale, and so begins right after the screen goes black (considers this as the beginning of s13!)  
> About the triggers: a lot of grief/mourning process, with some imagery that may be disturbing, some violence and minor deaths, and mostly a lot of angst! 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy, and don't hesitate to say your opinions/thoughts/questions! :)

A scream swells in Dean’s throat.

 

A terrifying, oily ocean shakes in his guts, filling his mouth with a thick taste of burnt darkness. His eyes are filled with the same poison, a flickering black light making the world spin around him, and his breaths are short, terrified, his skin cold and then red hot, and then back to a glacial winter.

His knees dive deep in the dirt beneath him, and his legs are already damp and frozen, the wind blowing violently around him, making him shiver as if his whole being had entered a world of ash and snow.

The sensation in his throat gets heavier and he barely holds it back. He can’t name it, the slur is right on the tip of his tongue but he can’t name it, no it’s too profound to hold a name, it’s too horrible to deserve one. It’s a ball of iron covered in dark blood, crackling of evil and agony, whispering in dozens of different languages, weighing down on his body like a beast, circling around his thoughts like a flight of crows.

He raises his eyes to the sky, taking several shaking breaths in, the feeling only roaring louder, nauseous in his mouth, feeling acid and heavy, making him want to throw up all his blood and soul on the ground.

The night is cold and it helps him a little for a moment as he stares at the stars barely shining on the dark velvet above, and for a moment he forgets everything, his mind just whispering a thin, desperate prayer to whatever is watching among the firmament.

 

And then, almost against his will, he lowers his head again and then, the soft comfort of the dark is gone, and then it’s all rushing back to him like a rain of gasoline and fire, and it numbs him entirely, it turns him into a machine with a heart too heavy for its chest, a being empty yet crumbling under the pressure.

His eyelashes flutter, his breath stuck in his throat, and he tastes the grief in it, the stench awful in his head, painful in the bridges of his nose, acrid in his eyes that slowly starts to fill with tears. Sobs shape inside of him, sore and brutal, grasping his skull with claws of steel and gold, forcing him to look at the truth right into his face that is nothing but a cruel grin full of teeth.

He lowers his eyes and his heart stops beating, and then he’s completely gone. He can’t even understand the vision in front of him, he _refuses_ to believe it.

 

Castiel is laying beside him, calm like a winter evening, where nothing moves, where all his silence and snow, where each breath can be heard from miles away. His eyes are closed, his chest motionless, an arm gently folded on his stomach as if he was just tasting the peace of a sweet slumber.

And it looks like sleep, and Dean wishes it was. It looks like the angel is just resting, exhausted by the recent events, and the battles, and the wounds and the silent cries he has held back. Sore of this life that just couldn’t be the way he wanted.

It would be this way if there weren’t two shadows shaped with feathers and broken grace unraveled on each side of him. Dean had a speck of hope that it was just a dream and Cas would wake up, wounded but alive.

But here they are, wide and black on the sandy ground near the lake with the water lapping in the night, broken and yet majestic, but mostly _real_. They’re like a reminder of every time the three of them – hunters and angel in the wild – have been fighting against Death, of how they always took life as granted, how they always thought they would never die, eternal flames in small, furious bodies.

 

Dean doesn’t even remember the last time he saw them, the only memory coming to his mind is when he met Castiel, during that windy, cold as ice day, his bones damp in an old barn, and the sky had shaken, and _he_ had appeared, eyes still full of angelic pride, judging Dean as if he was a curious, little animal, just a little speck of gold floating in the universe. And his wings had appeared in a crash of thunder, lightning piercing through Dean’s heart, and they were wide and strong and _real_.

And they were still here, after so many years, broken time after time, but still there, curled in Castiel’s back, shivering in this merciless world that torn them apart.

But now they mock Dean, and they seem to say “ _I_ _t’s over now._ _Did you really thought you could keep him forever, when you did nothing to keep him by your side?_ ”, to what his heart answers by a faint whisper, too tired to fight.

 

Slowly, his body becomes numb and he collapses on the ground, all his weight tied to the earth and mud, the night whispering around him. He can’t even realize the horror of the situation, just observe without acting, like an outsider, like the ghost he’s becoming.

And then memories of the past years rush through his head, tearing apart every last walls he had built around his already shaken mind. Suddenly, it’s all too much, all his skull is overflowing, dripping blood and grief behind his eyes and his chest is soon filled with the same muddy waters, and he shatters.

It all starts with a heavy sob, just a little cry that bursts from his chest. And then it goes off like a firework, like a bomb behind his ribs and tears start pouring down, crashing onto the ground like acid rain.

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried for something that was not anger or frustration, when it was not a way to spit out his hot feelings. He doesn’t remember when he shed tears just for sorrow, as tears are meant to be since the beginning of times.

But here he feels it, it’s pure, blue pain clawing at his bones, ripping his heart to shreds, devastating everything that’s around, and the tears are burning in his eyes and every time he wipes them away, they come back, every damn time.

 

He didn’t want to touch Castiel. Watching was already devastating enough, but he couldn’t even imagine the cold, stiff skin and no heartbeats or breaths without being thrown in the deepest dread and agony.

But after a certain time, his hands itch, and a desperate sensation pulls him to the angel that is still lying very still, and Dean hopes there might be a burst of light and suddenly Cas will open his eyes, confused, and they could forget everything and have a brand new start.

But it doesn’t and when his fingertips touch his arm, nothing happens but the oily ocean roaring deeper inside of him, rising in an enormous wave threatening to crash. His hand grasps Cas’ coat, the touch trembling but firm, and he shakes it a little, hoping the angel will stir.

But it doesn’t and his heart sinks in the dark. He takes a short breath in and takes Castiel’s upper body on his lap, holding it as close as possible against his chest, trying to bring back the warmth in a skin that is already turning into marble. Cas’ head falls heavily against him, and the only thing reminding Dean the angel didn’t turn to diamond dust is the soft hair tickling his neck above the collar of his shirt.

But other than that, it’s like holding a pool of moonshine, a handful of silver. It’s still magical, sparkling lightly under Dean’s fingers, and yet it’s cold, unmoving, _lifeless_.

He raises one of his hands to put it on Cas’ head, his fingers gently diving in the short hair on the back of his neck, grasping the angel’s divine skull in his shaking, sweat-drenched human palm. The waters are moving back inside of him, slowly turning into something calmer, and way more dangerous.

 

The ocean turns into a wide plain of nothingness, a desert of gray sands that’s barely murmuring around him. Nothing moves, nothing breathes and his eyes get lost into space, and his heart slows down, the distraught pulse of it becoming the faint flutter of a moth’s wings.

It’s like all his sanity seeps from the pores of his skin, like it’s flowing from his tears and he’s slowly becoming an empty shell, the shadow of a man that used to be fire.

The only thing that proves that he is still alive is the way his features twitch from time to time, as blades of cold water hit his bones with violence, as the sorrow crashes against his flesh with animal cries.

He is cold and numb and tired, but inside it’s all fire and dust, screams and ruins, blood red rain and thunder destroying everything he ever was.

 

He doesn’t know for how long he stays like this, Castiel’s body small and cold against his chest that is hot of grief, he just knows a voice wakes him from his slumber-like state and he raises his eyes full of tears to cross his brother’s stare.

“Dean?” Sam repeats, worry spreading all across his face.

Dean blinks, trying to make his vision clear, and takes a deep breath in. It only makes him wince as it seems his heart got stuck between his ribs and is bleeding in all his chest now.

“He’s gone” he murmurs, slowly shaking his head of disbelief, and his arms around Cas make a tighter knot, as if he could hold the angel inside of him, away from the bloodied sand.

“Dean” Sam says again, and it’s not desperate anymore, but soft and gentle, as if he was trying to approach Dean like a wounded creature. “I know it’s hard-” he begins and his voice breaks as his eyes fall on Castiel’s lifeless body, “But we have to go...”

“He’s gone for good...” Dean cuts him off, his mouth half open in a silent cry of pain.

Sam has a little sigh, and fear rises in him when he sees Dean’s haunted eyes, the way his breathing is rapid and frightened, just like a little animal that was caught in a deadly trap. He raises a hand and gently puts it on Dean’s shoulder. His brother flinches under the touch, as if suddenly brought back into reality.

“Dean, I’m sorry” he says, “He was my friend too.”

“I know.” Dean whispers and Sam raises his head with surprise in front of this glimpse of clarity. But Dean’s eyes are foggy when he raises them to stare at Sam, “I have to make a deal”

Sam blinks several times, puzzled. “What?”

“To bring him back” Dean whispers, holding Cas tighter against his chest as if he was afraid he’d burst into ashes in his arms. “I have to do something.”

“Dean, it’s not gonna work” Sam gently whispers, pressing Dean’s shoulder.

“We-we have to-” Dean says, his voice cuts by sobs Sam never heard before, pure little sounds of pain. “We have to bring him back.”

“We don’t know where angels go when they die...” Sam whispers as softly as he can, but it doesn’t work as Dean freezes entirely of horror, “And we don’t know if anyone can do something to bring him back...”

Dean bites his tongue to the blood, despair flooding over him. “But I can’t- I can’t-”

Sam presses his shoulder harder, and makes him look at him. “Dean, I promise we’ll take care of him, and you know we’ll not forget him, but we have another problem” he says, hating to be so rough with his brother that is currently breaking inside. He turns around and gestures at something Dean doesn’t see.

 

A young man comes out of the shadow, wrapped in a thick blanket he holds tight against him. His bare feet slowly dive into the sandy ground, leaving burning prints behind him. The air seems to grow colder around them, and even Dean seems startled by the apparition, as two bright golden eyes stare at him, unblinking.

“Dean, this is Jack. Sam says, “Kelly’s kid.”

Dean frowns and turns to look at Sam, visibly confused. “The Nephilim?”

Sam nods. “Yes. I found him in the room Kelly had prepared for him. He didn’t run away.” He gives Jack a look and this one answers with the an odd, frightening expression. “I think he’s kind of lost.”

Jack’s eyes turn to look at Dean for a moment, his head tilting a little on one side as if to look at him better, before they fall upon Castiel’s body against the hunter’s chest. The Nephilim’s eyes seem to widen a little, the gold swirling in them and he has a step towards them, a hand already raised in the air.

Dean’s reaction is immediate, and electric. He grabs a gun hidden in an inner pocket and points it at Jack, his eyes full of lightning. “Stop” he hisses, and seeing he doesn’t obey, he clenches his jaw and his fingers are white on the trigger. “Don’t make another step, or I’ll shoot” he says, and Sam turns to him, startled by Dean’s nearly animal attitude.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I don’t trust Lucifer’s kid” Dean says, eyes still fixed strong on Jack who steps back, a confused look piercing the strange mask of his face, “Not after what the did to Cas” he adds, the last word broken like glass in his mouth.

Sam frowns. “It’s not just Lucifer’s kid” he says, shaking his head. “It’s also Kelly’s, and you know she was good.”

Dean turns to him, his eyes dark like a wolf’s. “Yeah, she _was_ ” he snaps, “He killed her” he says, gesturing at Jack with the gun still pointed at him.

“He didn’t choose to” Sam gently says. “Kelly loved him, and Cas had faith in him, he thought he’ll do good in this world.”

“Yeah, and look at what happened to him!” Dean finally bursts, his hand falling back on his side, the gun landing with a thud in the sand.

Sam opens his mouth to answer, but seeing Dean’s red, swollen eyes, he closes it, and has a long sigh instead. “I know.” He gives Jack a look and this one is staring at the ground, visibly not knowing what to do. “We have to get home now.” He stops and thinks for a second how to phrase his thoughts. “Do you want to build the pyre here?” he asks, as softly and slowly as possible.

“I won’t burn him” Dean says, his voice just a whispers, lowering his head, eyes shut tight, tears still dripping from his chin.

Sam has a gentle sigh. “Alright, do you want to bury him instead?”

“Not here” Dean whispers, his knuckles white of grasping Cas’ coat, “Too far from the bunker” he mutters after a small pause.

“Alright” Sam repeats and he starts moving towards Dean. Bile rises in his throat as he gets a better look at Cas’ cold, lifeless body and suddenly the blue tide moves in him too and his mouth is dry, his lungs tight. “Do you want me to get him to the car?”

“No!” Dean snaps, before softening when he sees Sam’s face painted of grief. “Just, take the Nephilim with you in Cas’ truck, we- we can’t let it there.”

“Are you sure you can get home alone?” Sam asks, worried as he sees Dean’s empty stare and his fingers like claws on Cas’ back.

Dean nods, covered by a violent shiver. “Just go. I’ll met you there.”

 

Sam is about to protest but he knows fighting won’t do anything good to either of them. He presses Dean’s shoulder once again, wishing he could soothe the suffering moving in his brother’s eyes, but feeling already too torn apart to even try.

He gets up and walks to Jack, raising a hand to put it on the young man’s shoulder, and when his fingertips touch him, there’s a small wave of electricity, and despite Sam’s surprise, it’s neither aggressive or demonic, rather like a little blow of divine fear.

Jack raises his head and as Sam gestures at the truck, he starts following him with small steps. Before he gets into the car, he glances one last time at Dean and Castiel, and what could be some kind of pain flashes on his features before he turns away, the dark hiding all his emotions.

Sam can’t help but look at them too, his heart sore as he sees Dean take a deep breath, probably gathering his strength for what’s coming. Sam wishes Dean had accepted to pass the burden to him, because if Sam knows it’ll turn his heart into shreds to give Cas a definitive goodbye, he also knows it’ll break Dean inside and Sam is not sure he can save him from this kind of death.

He gets in the car and closes the door. Jack has curled up against the cold window, staring blankly outside, his eyes still shining of gold, but very faintly now. Sam glances at the rear mirror to see Dean still hasn’t moved, and he has to fight against himself not to go to him again.

 _There are things that can only be faced alone and Death is one of them_ , he thinks as he drives away.

 

The engine has stopped roaring for several, long minutes before Dean stirs. He first puts Cas back on the ground, laying him very gently, and now that his legs are free, he grabs him again, an arm under his back and the other under his knees, and with a wince he raises him up as he stands in the night.

This new weight nearly makes him lose his balance and he has to stand still for a few moments before he’s sure he won’t fall back on the cold dirt. He adjusts his arm so Cas’ head is gently resting against his chest and despite the way his muscles are numb and sore, he walks his way to the Impala, stumbling in the sand.

He opens the door with difficulty and softly lays Cas on the backseat. When the angel’s head falls like a rock to rest on the black leather, Dean thinks he’s going to burst into ashes and just fade away, eaten up by sorrow.

The drive to the bunker is long, incredibly long, the hours falling one by one like sand in an hourglass, and he grits his teeth every time he feels the need to turn back to check on Cas. Because he won’t call him, he won’t need him for anything, because he is….

Dean’s hands grip the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles hurt, and there’s acid rising in his mouth and he can’t even believe all of this is real.

Castiel can’t be dead, he just _can’t_ be, the laws of the universe can’t apply to him, he can’t be gone, he can’t be away from him, somewhere he can’t reach for him.

He can’t leave him, not like _this_.

 

Dean can feel the sting of all the words left unsaid, swarming on his tongue until it’s heavy of regret. He can feel a hot red emotion bubbling in his chest, torn apart by blue, striated of pain. He doesn’t need it anymore, this feeling that ate his guts and heart and lungs for so many years, and yet, it’s still there, pulsing like a dying animal behind his ribs, weeping in the dark.

The worst is that he’s unsure of what’s going to happen. He tries not to think of the future, not of what it looks like without Cas fluttering around, disappearing and reappearing like the moon on the riddled water. He tries not to think of burying him, of his angelic bones turning to dust, his hands, face and eyes decaying in the earth, his words carried away by the wind.

He tries not to think of all the weeks, months and years that will flow by without him. Of how the sun will still rise, the cars will still pass by, the coffee will still be made every morning, and the seasons will change and the snow will fall and the sun will come crashing down on the Earth eventually, and it will all happen without Cas.

Life will just keep unraveling and he won’t be there.

 

Dean parks the car inside the garage, and then it’s all blurry and suddenly he’s putting Cas down on his bed, tears blurring his eyes, and then he’s back in his own room, sitting on the edge of the soft mattress, face buried in his palms.

Sam comes to find him and forces him to stand. He walks him to the kitchen and sits him down, begs him to eat something but Dean just clenches his jaw and goes straight to the whiskey bottle he left on the counter. Sam gives him a worried look but he gives up and takes out two glasses.

As Dean sips the hard liquor that burns his way to his lungs, his eyes sweeps the room nervously and they eventually land on Jack, who’s sitting on the other side of the table, several books open in front of him. His eyes are closed and he takes deep breaths in, as if he was absorbing the words from the pages.

“What are we gonna do with him?” Dean asks, pouring himself another drink that is soon emptied, and a comfortable warmth settles down in his belly.

“I don’t know” Sam answers softly, before he passes a hand on his face. “I just don’t know.”

“I’m not gonna babysit Lucifer’s kid, is what I know” Dean snaps, glaring at Jack with eyes so dark Sam shivers.

“We can’t abandon him out there, on his own” Sam whispers, now examining Dean’s reaction with worry.

“Why not?” Dean asks, his fist clenched around his glass. Sam can see he’s holding back more tears and that as soon as he’ll be out of sight, he’ll be crushed under sorrow again.

“Because I can help you.”

 

Dean jumps on his seat and Sam turns suddenly back to the source of that new voice. Jack’s eyes are wide open like a child, made of a curious blue that is as far as possible from their eerie gold when Sam first saw them.

Jack was silent during the whole ride, and Sam supposed it was because he couldn’t speak, just like he wasn’t able to express his intentions when he walked to Dean and Cas, hand outstretched. But now, he seems fully aware of his surroundings, and himself.

“What?” Dean asks in a whisper, considering the Nephilim with a wary eye.

Jack turns to look at him, his stare calm and divine, making Dean shudder, his glass nervously clasped in his palm. The Nephilim’s features are odd: completely human and yet carrying a disturbing feeling, as if a whole world of shivering shadows was hiding behind those peaceful blue eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Dean says, his jaw clenched of anger.

Jack blinks once, still carrying this soft summer aura around him, despite the sharpness of his face.

“I can help you bringing back your friend whose grace has been lost” he says.

 

There’s a beat of silence, where white noise hums in their ears.

 

And then.

“Cas” Dean murmurs, and the world shatters around him.

 

X

It’s dark.

Suffocating even.

It’s a narrow space, a prison of thick blackness, where the air doesn’t move and the light doesn’t shine. It’s a box of shadows with walls made of bones.

 

Curled up in a corner, there’s a little ball of blue light. It’s made of thousands of luminous threads, and it shivers. It’s away from its body, it feels cold even in the damp atmosphere of its cage, and it weeps, very softly.

It gets a glimpse of the world around, sometimes. It’s very quick, just blurry pictures appearing and disappearing too fast for its bright eyes, and it’s all grayness unraveling around him, trees slender and bare, sky the color of ashes.

The light wishes to escape, but there’s something stronger fighting against it, something stubborn and divine, shaking its head as it tries to find a way out of the black. The light is pushed back in a corner, mercilessly thrown against the ivory walls, and it cries in silence.

It’s not home, it’s a place unknown, a land of ice and blood, away from the warmth and love it knows. But it can’t run away from that universe that isn’t its own.

It’s broken and lost and fragile but there’s one thing it does know.

It’s that its name was whispered, hushed like a prayer, desperate and hoarse, and it made its glow a thousand times brighter. Every time it feels lonely, it remembers that voice, tastes it on its tongue and tears, and it soothes it for a while.

 

 _Cas_ , it says again and again and again and again…

X

 

Dean gets up suddenly. The glass he’s been holding falls from his shaking hands and it crashes onto the floor, the rapid beat of his heart making it look like slow motion. It breaks in thousands of tiny diamond pieces but the loud sound doesn’t even make him flinch. He just stares at Jack, eyes wide open, filled half with dread, half with hope.

“How?” he asks, in a strangled whisper.

Jack considers him with the same gentle look. All that made him possibly evil seemed to have disappeared for Dean, and all he sees is a chance to get Cas back, a chance to grasp him again and feel the steady beat of his heart, and never letting it be silent, never again.

“When someone dies,” Jack begins and his voice is calm and low, like a soothing humming, “Their souls either go to Heaven or Hell.”

“Yeah, we know that” Dean snaps.

Jack has a little, understanding smile. “But you do not know where angels go when they die.” Seeing that Dean falls into hurt silence, he continues. “When an angel dies, their grace does not go into any place, it gathers with another part of it, so maybe one day they might be whole.”

Sam frowns, his eyes tired and empty. “I’m not sure I understand” he whispers, and Dean seems as confused as his brother.

“Imagine a star” Jack begins, only deepening the Winchesters’ frowns, “Then imagine it is being split into thousands of pieces, each thrown in a different side of this world.” He has another small smile and his eyes seem to flicker gold. “This is what happens to angels. They are whole, and they are not, and when a piece of their beings dies, it rejoins another, until, eventually they become whole again.”

“Wait,” Dean stops him, one of his hand grasping the table to keep his balance, “You mean that angels have more than one soul?” He frowns deeper. “But it’s no different from humans! We saw one of our friend who’s dead in this world, pretty much alive in that other dimension you freaking opened!”

Jack shakes his head. “No, you do not understand.”

“Then explain yourself!” Dean shouts, approaching the Nephilim with wide steps, and Sam has to get up and grabs his shoulders to keep him from moving further.

Jack gives him a look that is slightly frightened. Celestial being or not, any creature would shiver under the hunter’s swirling hot stare.

“Humans have different souls for each different universe they are created into. But angels have the same essence, the same core no matter where they are. If one part of their grace finds another, they share memories.” He nods to himself, eyes closed for a moment. “Your friend, the one you know, is not gone. He is in another world, and if you want to bring him back, you will have to break him free.”

Dean is silent for a few moments. Then, “So, you mean there’s another Cas behind that portal you opened and, Cas – I mean _our_ Cas – is trapped inside of him?”

“His grace is trapped inside his other self, yes.” Jack confirms.

“But how do we get him back?” Sam asks, hopeful.

Jack turns his half blue, half golden eyes to him. “You will have to convince his other self to give up that part of him.”

“But _how_?” Sam insists, “You said angels only wanted to be whole again. What makes you think he will accept to give us a part of his grace when he just had it back?”

“And how do you know all of that!?” Dean snaps, furious, electric, all his limbs, bones and blood ready to jump in an another, devastated world if it means he will find Cas there, and bring him back where he belongs.

“I know things of this world and the others” Jack answers calmly.

It sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. “But you don’t know if Cas’ alter ego will accept to give us back his grace?”

Jack shakes his head. “One’s free will is out of my vision. One cannot predict what choices another is willing to make.”

Dean is about to snap another acid answer when Sam cuts him off, turning to Jack, his eyes full of light. “Wait, is Cas really in the same world you opened?”

Jack nods. “Yes, his grace seeped through the remains of the portal. I _know_ it.”

Sam turns to his brother, hope bursting through a broken smile. “You heard that?” Dean gives him a questioning look glazed by alcohol. Sam presses his shoulders tighter. “Mom is there too! That means we can get both of them back! At once!”

Dean’s eyes open wider, suddenly very clear. “Mom...” he repeats, and suddenly he feels very ashamed. He is so used of this impossible, ridiculously evil situations that he didn’t even realize the danger his mother might be in, thrown in an apocalyptic world, Lucifer with her.

And now he realizes that he both lost his mother and Cas. Two pieces that made his family whole, finally found again and gone the same day.

 

And suddenly it’s too much, he steps back from Sam and falls heavily on his seat, all his body full of white noise, his blood buzzing in his ears and he can’t take it. Tears pour down from his eyes, ruining all his face, making the skin tight and salty like the tide.

“Can you send us there?” he asks Jack, his voice a broken whisper.

He nods. “I opened it once, I can open it again, for you.”

“Why?” Dean asks, frowning, his eyes glassy. “Why are you doing this?”

“Your friend, _Castiel_. He protected me, he watched over me, and I owe him my life. I have to save him.” He stops, takes a little breath and seems to consider the situation, before he dives his eyes into Dean’s, “And… I know you care about him. Very deeply. It is not just something I know, it is not written anywhere, it is not a rule of the universe. But it is powerful enough to overcome these rules, and I never learned to feel and I can’t yet name what I sense from you, but what I know for certain, is that you would do anything to get him back.”

 

Silence falls on the room. Sam blinks several times, his breath blown away by the Nephilim’s speech, before he slowly turns to his brother, unsettled. Dean is still staring at Jack, his mouth half open as if he was about to say something but no words would come out of it. He then lowers his eyes as if everything had been said and the truth had fallen upon his head like a blade.

Sam suspects Jack lifted the veil on some deeply buried secret, but the emergency of the situation makes him swallow his questions back. He turns back to the Nephilim.

“When can we go?”

Jack gives him a soft look. “Whenever you are ready.” He makes a small pause and has a smile, that despite the odd nature of its curve, reassures Sam a little. “But I would suggest you rest before we leave. The world you want to see is not a good world. It is not made for souls who lived too much and are ready to get lost among its darkness.”

Sam nods and turns to Dean. This one seems resigned and he clenches his jaw and fists, looking away. “You go to sleep. I’ll pack the bags” he says, and before Sam can even protest, he is gone, his steps heavy and desperate echoing in the hallway.

“We have to find them” Sam whispers when he’s gone, both to Jack and himself.

“I know” the Nephilim answers, “Because I do not know if there is anything that could save him if we do not succeed.”

 

Remembering the way Dean held Cas against him, as if the wind could carry him away and he’d be left with empty arms and heart, Sam agrees there’s nothing in his power he’ll be able to do to console him.

 

X

 

Dean is jittery. He paces along the library, his fingers twitch on his sides, as if he was trying to grasp the invisible. His eyes sweep the room like a wild animal, his heart thunders like a god in his chest.

He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He tried, he stayed in his bed for hours and his eyelids were heavy but every time he closed them, gentle eyes and bright blue light and burnt wings appeared in his mind, and he sat with a jolt, covered in cold sweat and tears.

It’s early in the morning and he feels empty, as if the sun rose on everything and everyone, but him. He feels cold and gray like a thin shell of paper protecting a wounded, bleeding light, luminous blood dripping from every bullet holes in his body. He swallowed several cups of coffee that tasted more like whiskey than coffee, and he doesn’t feel better, just feels like fire is running through his veins in a destructive way.

He checked the bags again and again, making sure he didn’t forget anything. He doesn’t even know for how long they’ll be long, or if they will ever make it back. After all, they’re jumping into the flames, not knowing what they’re going to face.

He stares at the clothes folded neatly in his bags, the knives and guns laid above them, the non-perishable food and the bottle of alcohol tucked between all of his belongings, and he wonders.

In the end, is all of this even necessary? No matter how hard he tries to hope and believe he’ll find his mom and Cas and bring them back safe and sound, thousands of black thoughts invade his head and he knows deep down he’ll never get what he wants. Some way or another, it’ll not go as planned.

He sighs and sits down, face hidden in his hand, trying to find some peace. He didn’t come back to Cas’ room since the evening before, and he doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t think he has the strength to open the door and see him laying still, eyelids closed and cold swirling around him. He just _can’t_.

 

Footsteps approach in the library, making him raise his head. Jack stops walking and stands a few feet away, considering him with a careful look.

There’s something unsettling about him, and Dean still doesn’t trust him. It’s something he can’t describe, the way his features are pale and cold and frightening, his stare steady and icy, his smile animal even when it tries to be reassuring.

They stare at each other for a moment, wolf facing wolf, before Dean speaks. “Why are you helping us?”

The Nephilim frowns. “I told you” he says, tilting his head, and Dean grits his teeth. The gesture reminds him of a certain celestial being he met some time again, and he had the same odd innocence in every move he made.

“What do you want in return?” Dean asks, wary.

Jack frowns deeper, his blue eyes confused. Dean clenches his jaw. “Why would I want something?” The Nephilim answers.

“Should I remind you that your dear old dad is freaking Lucifer?” Dean spits, feeling the anger rising back inside of him, against his will, “That _he_ \- that he... killed Cas?” he adds, voice breaking at the very reminder of the angel blade piercing Cas’ chest.

“I know” Jack says, his eyes now darkening, “But I am not my father, and he will pay for what he did.”

Dean is now confused. “Why?” he says in a breath, astonished that this odd creature meant to be the destroyer of worlds and killer of humanity, is in fact so akin to him, so tormented by his feelings.

Jack makes a few steps closer and his expression softens. “My mother. He watched over her and protected her when no one would. I heard his voice when she was scared, or suffering” He stops, pain twisting his mouth in a bitter curve, “She _loved_ him. She saw him as a friend and a protector and I will never forget that.”

Dean lowers his head, not knowing what to answer to that. He just supposed Jack was evil, believing he’d follow his father’s monstrous steps as if no one could drift from the path their family cleared for them.

“Sorry I doubted you” he finally says, feeling the shame rising in his throat.

Jack has a thin smile. “I understand. You are hurting.”

Dean holds back a sob. It tastes like blood in his mouth, like moths in his lungs. “How long do you think we’ll be gone?” he asks, a nauseous feeling shaking in his stomach. “Cas is- I mean, the body...”

“Do not worry,” Jack answers, “I will do what is necessary.” He makes a step closer and gives Dean a compassionate look. “Here, come with me.”

 

Dean looks unsure at first but finally sighs and follows the Nephilim. His steps are silent in the hallway, the divine sparkling around him like bubbles in golden champagne. It’s only when they stop in front of a door that Dean realizes he has to face reality now.

Jack’s eyes question him, waiting for him to be ready to come inside. Dean takes a deep breath and closes his eyelids for a few seconds, trying to chase all the dark images finding their way to his brain. He then nods and Jack opens the door.

 

Nothing has moved. _Of course_.

No holy light rained down from the sky and filled the gap in Cas’ chest, and made his heart beat again, his grace shine in his body. He’s still laying on his bed, his eyelashes gently resting without a beat.

 

A painful wave moves in Dean’s chest and he thinks he’s going to be sick. Death doesn’t inspire him dread or grief in this moment, only disgust in its purest form. How can It take Cas from him, not once, but so many times, and now to a place he isn’t sure he can reach? How can something as monstrous as _Death_ touch someone like Cas?

Dean feels like the Universe has made a mistake. It can’t be true.

Yet when he looks at Cas motionless and pale, he knows it’s real, _too_ real. He turns to Jack for he cannot stand the sight of him anymore.

The Nephilim nods, and approaches the bed with slow steps. He raises slender fingers and puts them on Cas’ forehead, very lightly. He closes his eyes and a warm orange glow spreads from his fingertips, creating like a shiny cover above Castiel, a wave of translucent fire moving gently with silence, before it seems to dive in his body, and disappears.

“Here,” Jack murmurs, “He will be ready for you when you come back.”

“Can’t you save him now?” Dean whispers in return, his eyes now fixed blankly on Castiel, tears peering again in them, “You opened a portal in another dimension, so why can’t you...” he lets his words die on his tongue, too tired to continue.

“Angels are complex beings, Dean.” Jack answers with kindness. “No one will ever be able to completely understand how they work, how they behave, how they _feel_. They are mysteries to everyone, even to me.”

“It’s my fault” Dean whispers, hurt spreading like fire inside of him.

Jake moves and suddenly his palm is on Dean’s shoulder. The hunter flinches of surprise, as the touch is cool even through several layers of clothing. It feels like gentle snow applied on gaping wounds, and it eases him to the core of his being.

“No, you are not the one to blame.” Jack says, his eyes blue speckled of gold, “You are blessed to have each other.”

Dean has a bitter laugh. “I don’t think he’d say the same.”

Jack gives him a sad smile, and lets his hand fall back on his side. He gives Cas a last sorrowful look, before he turns back and stands in the door frame. “I will tell Sam you are ready to leave” he says, “And remember, nothing is ever lost forever.”

 

Dean nods with a small smile, but as soon as Jack is gone, all his hope falls down. There are so many things that could go wrong and despite his wish to get Cas back, he’s mostly certain he will fail and condemn himself to a lifetime of regret and ache.

He walks around the bed and kneels beside it, his hands shaking of cold and fear and tiredness and _emptiness_. He gently grasp Cas’ sleeve, a handful of tan coat to anchor himself to reality.

“I’ll bring you back” he says behind his clenched teeth, his heart like a drum behind his ribs and he’s filled with a new energy, something powerful and destructive, something like fire on gasoline and suddenly he’s ready to fight an entire world it that means bringing a tiny handful of light home.

He moves to rest his head on Cas’ chest, just where his heart is supposed to sing, and he listens to the foggy silence inside for a moment, reminder of what he has to do. The energy thrives inside of him and he’s ready, his fists are clenched and thunder growls behind his wrists.

Silence reminds him of the noise that used to fill his head and lungs every time Cas was near him, of all the sound that will be gone if he doesn’t succeed.

He allows one of his palm to rest on Cas’ head for a few seconds, fingers diving in soft hair, before he gets up and takes a deep breath. Like a warrior that has been numbed by too many battles, he jumps into the fire without asking what’s waiting on the other side.

 

When he arrives in the library, Sam and Jack are waiting for him. “Are you OK?” Sam asks, worry painted on his face.

“Yes.” Dean answers, though it’s not true.

“Are you ready?” Jack asks, his eyes snapping to deep gold.

“Yes.” Dean says and it’s _true_.

The Nephilim nods and there’s a blow of light in his irises before a ribbon of the same divine color appears in the middle of the room, and it seemed to breathe hot, shine like a galaxy, a sun that fell in the dust.

Dean gives a last look behind, remembering the blue eyes asleep in a room near this one. He then turns around and jumps into liquid gold.

 

Everything turns to black.


	2. Silence, Ashes

Dean feels dizzy for a moment, and as he didn’t feel this way the first times, he supposes his actual physical and emotional state is playing a part in the nauseous oil boiling in his stomach. But it soon fades away when he looks around, and his heart is filled with a much crueler emotion.

They landed near a lake, feet now diving in the soft mud as sick brown waters lap nearby. Everything about the place reminds him of the night before. That awful, cursed evening where the ground seemed to open and swallow everything he got. From the damp atmosphere, the dark trees and small ferns to the great stretch of water shining faintly under the light, even the chill in the air and stench of blood and tears is there to make him remember.

 

He turns around, seeing Sam is glancing around nervously, already gripping a blade in his hand, knuckles turning white. Dean realizes they don’t know much about this world, apart from what Cas told them and what they briefly saw with their own eyes.

The land is made of desolation and ashes: everywhere he looks, it’s gray, dull, _dead_. There’s no bird flying above, no fish emerging from the surface, no small animal moving in the bushes. Just a plain, white silence filled with fog and static.

He turns to Jack, his heart beating a little bit faster than he’d like to admit. “Can’t you… you know... make it less creepy?” he asks, definitely not reassured.

Jack gives him a small smile. “I opened the door to this world. I did not create it.” He gives a look around, his brow covered by a frown. “I do know some things about this place, but I do not know with certainty what we are going to face.”

Dean sighs and readjusts the bag on his shoulder. His eyes sting, as if there was a fire near him, and smoke was seeping through his eyelids, and now it’s covering his lungs, making cough several times.

“So, how do we find our mom and Cas?” Sam asks, still looking around carefully. They know Heaven, Hell and Purgatory but parallel universes seem to be something _else_. The only thing they found in the Men of Letters’ books was the thin hypothesis they may exist, so it was foolishness to even believe you could enter one.

“As they have been close to me before I was born, I am able to sense them, and so _find_ them” Jack answers, his eyes unblinking.

Dean frowns. He now understands what it must feel like when “normal” people learn about the supernatural. As Jack’s abilities keep unraveling in front of him, he feels like he’ll never quite understand what he is, and when his bones will be old and sore – if he ever lives long enough for that – he’s sure he’ll still not have find out everything about that odd creature.

“Alright, so what are we waiting for?” Dean asks, fire running through his legs, bones ignited, muscles full of blood as he wants to find them as soon as possible, and leave this place that makes shivers run down his spine.

“If you are ready, I can begin to follow their trace” Jack suggests.

Dean nods. “Do it” he says, and suddenly he feels a chill grow in his guts. He just realized that he’s about to find his mother back, and with a jolt of his sore heart, he thinks of Cas too. The thought he’ll have to cross a world of fire and smoke, and meet him in this universe fills him with both expectation and anxiety.

“We should begin by finding your mother” Jack says before he sees Dean’s expression darken a little, his mouth half open of grief, as if about to protest, “But that is entirely your choice, of course” he adds, confused by Dean’s reaction.

“No, no it’s alright” Sam says, a nearly childish smile spreading on his lips. He turns to his brother and his smile turns into a slight frown when he sees Dean’s hurt expression, his eyes lowered to the ground as if he was resigned, “Dean?”

“Hm?” this one answers, raising his head, puzzled, “What?”

“Are you alright?” his brother asks, carefully stepping closer to Dean.

“Yeah, sure, everything’s alright” Dean says, not very convincingly.

Sam has a gentle smile. “We’ll find him,” he says, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder, trying to be reassuring, “I promise.”

Dean has a little, sad spark of a laugh. “I know, it’s just-” he begins before stopping and Sam sees his eyes becoming dark of doubt and sorrow, “I’m sorry” he finally says, “Let’s just do like he said” he adds, gesturing at Jack.

The Nephilim nods solemnly and invites them to follow him with a move of his pale face. The Winchesters start walking behind him, still throwing worried glances around, Dean’s heart heavy like a stone as he’s torn between the two threads to his happiness.

 

X

 

They’ve walked through the land for a while now, and it starts to weigh down on their minds, souls and bodies. The worry and dread disappeared to be replaced by a wide boredom and annoyance.

Nothing in this world moves. It seems quite ironic for a place where wars have been raging for centuries, but it’s all silence, and fog, and shadow. It’s not really gray, but rather some kind of faded, muddy brown that seems to stick to their skin. The air is heavy and hot, suffocating, only lightened by a rare glacial wind that freezes the sweat on their brows.

The ground is also torturous: the feeling of it under their feet changes in turns, hard and dry and then wet and sticky and then back to rocks making their steps sore. A few slender, barren trees grow here and there, but they offer no shadow, no protection, nothing.

They only stopped a few times during the past hours, to rest and drink a little water that is already awfully warm, and tiredness tense the features of their faces. Dean’s eyes are already empty and made of faded green, while Sam’s are still a little bright, but already crowded in doubt.

They’ve been following Jack without asking questions, but now they begin to wonder if the Nephilim isn’t just a mirage, a solution to their problems that’s way too good to be true.

His eyes are most often close tight, but when he opens them they shine of bright gold, a ring of soft fire around the pupil, blazing the landscape around. He seems to follow a trail only he can see, making the brothers stumble as he suddenly changes the direction of his steps. This trail that humans cannot perceive is to him a luminous thread connecting him to Mary, and though she’s still miles away from them, he feels her deep in his chest, just like his mother felt her hand pressed tight in her palm as she was living her last moments.

He tries to walk as fast as he can, tiredness barely there in his half divine bones, hurrying and reassuring the Winchesters as these ones start to lose hope. He feels in their hearts that they have the strength to face incredible things, things that most humans couldn’t even bear to think, but their minds and the cursed land are playing tricks on their bodies, making them think they’re weak and broken and small, and all they want is to curl up on the gray earth and wait for the nightmare to be over.

He opens his eyes just a little, letting some gold slip through his eyelashes and glances at Sam. His tall silhouette follows him closely, his head turning several times to look around, his hunter soul still alert and ready to fight. On his other side, Dean is walking silently, only raising his head to give the trees and dirt a dull look.

Jack frowns. Though the two brothers are moved by the same desire to find the ones they care about, the emotions flowing from them are very different. Sam, despite being exhausted and sore to the bone, still has a tiny speck of hope, and Jack sees in his eyes he’s not ready to stop, he still believes he’ll find his mother and friend among the tall trees. But Dean, his heart is burning of anger and grief and despair and rage, and yet, he’s numb and defeated and when Jack narrows his eyes to see his thread of soul, it’s like a cold, monotonous river.

And though he sees clearly his hot emotions, he still cannot name the red, soft and velvety one pulsing behind his ribs, tainted of sorrow and regret. He’s not even sure Sam’s eyes can perceive the distress behind these rapid heartbeats.

 

He tried to find the angel too, but the thread was not just simply glowing, it was _moving_. Not gently flowing like Mary’s, but moving rapidly like a shooting star, ripping the air around them, both on earth and in the skies, shaking like lightning in the night. And his light, God, his light was so bright the cold of it almost burnt Jack’s eyes when he first saw his grace among the trees.

For now, he hopes they will soon find Mary, for he’s worried about her, fierce but very human soul in a land of fire, and he cannot promise the brothers a mother back, and then give them emptiness. He cannot break them more they already are.

 

He takes a deep breath in and his odd, flames-colored soul shakes in him. He can feel his father too, somewhere in the land. He’s angry and terrified and _dark_. Black like the night, and he’s destroying everything around him, brushing against the earth like a storm. He’s getting closer to Mary and Jack feels his heart miss a beat when he realizes there’s nothing he can do to slow his furious steps.

He is also frightened of what he might do if he meets his father in the way. He grits his teeth at the very thought of him standing in his way, and all he can think about is the red anger rushing through him as he thinks of what he did to his mother, of how he let her on her own and treated her like a simple object meant to carry his child. He also thinks of the blood on Castiel’s shirt, of the way his grace was silent when he tried to reach for it, far away from the bright explosions of colors he felt when Castiel’s palm touched his mother’s belly.

He fears the rage that might burst from him if he sees his father, for he’s certain he’ll destroy him in the most monstrous way. And he does not want to be the beast the world believes him to be. He does not want to give in to the whispering darkness in his chest.

 

He’s lost in his thoughts, following Mary’s trail only by instinct when he feels Dean’s presence beside him, closer than before. He turns his head to the hunter, a bit surprised as Dean did not speak a word since they began to walk.

“Dean?” Jack gently says, his golden stare crossing Dean’s tired green one.

This one has a little shiver, still not used to this bright, odd color swirling of kindness. When it comes to creatures and beasts, all he knows is deep black, or blood red, or dear blue so pale it appears white. But this gentle gold unsettles him, it makes him wonder about everything he knows. How can Lucifer’s sonbe the one helping them, knowing the evil running through his veins?

“I was thinking,” Dean begins, searching how to phrase his thoughts, which are tight in a knot, crackling like electricity in his head, “What’s gonna happen if the Cas from this world accepts to give us… _our_ Cas’ grace back?” He frowns, “I mean, is it gonna fly back to our world or something?”

“No, it is not.” Jack answers, causing a confused look from Dean. “You do remember asking me to protect Castiel’s body while we are gone, is that right?”

“Yeah, but I thought just for the time we take to find his grace, not-”

“And I told you he would be ready for you when you come back” Jack gently says.

Dean frowns, opening his mouth and closing it several times. “So we have to take it back to our world ourselves?”

“Exactly. It has to be _carried_.”

“Alright,” Dean says, trying to figure out a plan, “So you’re gonna take it with you and bring it back to his body?”

“No, I am not the one who will carry it.” Jack answers, voice soft like a summer breeze, eyes still full of light.

Dean frowns again, puzzled by the Nephilim’s attitude. “Why not?”

“Because if it is kept outside Heaven, or outside a vessel, angel grace weakens, especially if it has been wounded before. In this case, after being brought back when it has being ripped apart once again, and crossing the border between this world and ours, it will need to be protected, to be kept warm and alive, otherwise it may not survive for too long on its own.”

Dean’s heart misses a beat. “I still don’t get why you can’t do it. I mean, you probably know way more about angel stuff than any of us...”

“That is right,” Jack says, “But in order to keep that grace safe, it must be close to the Universe’s greatest source of energy: souls.” He shakes his head, gently. “And I do not own a soul, but a grace, and despite my power and my knowledge, I could not make it survive.”

“So that means Sam, or my mom, or me will have to _carry_ it?” Dean asks, feeling the dread rising inside of him.

“Yes, all three of you could do it.” Jack answers, before he pauses for a few seconds, so long Dean thinks he has finished to speak. Then, “Though I believe _you_ would be the right one to do it.”

Dean blinks, his breath caught in his lungs. “Why me?”

“I know you would protect it at any cost, if that means you could bring Castiel back into your world.” He then has a small, somehow malicious smile. “And I also believe it would be better for him to be carried by the person he’s closest to.”

Dean’s eyelids flutter and he doesn’t know what to answer for a while. “I don’t know if you’re making the right choice giving me that responsibility” he says, already imagining the worst scenarios where he would lose his only chance to save Cas. “After all-” he starts, remembering the night before.

“I have been alive for less than a day and I already know that in this world and the others, there are not a lot of connections between two beings that anyone could dare to compare with the one you share with Castiel” Jack says in one breath, before turning back to Dean, his eyes shiny gold, “I _know_ you are the one who will keep him alive, and I _know_ you are the one who will bring him back to the reality you know.”

That finishes to blow Dean’s thoughts away. He stares at Jack, breathless, his heart thundering behind his ribs. The fact a creature that is half angel – no, archangel – believes he is the one to carry an angelic grace from a world to another, while protecting it _and_ keeping it fueled, makes him shiver from head to toe. He can’t be that important, not _him_.

He takes a deep breath. “Alright. But how am I gonna do that?” he asks, trying to repress the panic rising inside of him, “Do I have to carry it inside? You know…. Like angels possessing vessels?”

Jack shakes his head, and his hot eyes seem to hold more mysteries than the entire Universe. “No, you and Castiel are meant to be one, but as two different beings. Besides, I am certain he would refuse to hurt you in any way just to keep himself safe.”

Again, Dean feels like he has just been hit in the stomach, all the air in his lungs bursting out of his body into the brown atmosphere. Could Cas really feel that way? Did Jack really sense that from the short amount of time he spent near Castiel? Or is he just trying to make him believe in his ability to bring Cas back home?

“Then how?” Dean insists, feeling desperate.

“Give me your hand” Jack orders. Dean first gives him a confused look before he obeys under the unblinking, golden stare and presents his palm to the Nephilim. Jack takes it very gently in his own hands, one under Dean’s, the other covering his palm.

Dean has a little jolt of surprise when a warm sensation fills his hand, as if honey had shaped into a ball in the curve of it, among the rough skin and dust and blood, and his eyes open a little wider when he sees pale orange light escaping through the cracks between their fingers.

A second after, Jack moves back, his fingertips leaving soft burnt marks on Dean’s hands, just small glowing patterns that fade away with a blink of the eye. Dean is breathless, and he considers the object that fell into his palm with shiny eyes.

In his hand, there’s a little tube of clear glass, with a small golden lid and bottom, flowers and leaves delicately crafted in the metal. The strange and tiny container is hanging from a chain of black rope, the whole making a necklace for Dean to pass around his neck.

He raises his head to Jack, awed. “I’m going to carry Cas home… in this?”

The Nephilim has a gentle smile, the kind adults have in front of very small, adorably curious children. “Yes, once his self from this world has released this part of his grace, it will directly flow into this, so you will be able to carry it without too much difficulty.”

Dean looks at the little container for a few more seconds, imagining blue light filling it, and he can’t quite convince himself he will bring Cas back in it. For him, Cas is no celestial glow, he’s flesh and bone and blood and breaths, he’s something he can hold and touch and long for. But now he realizes he’s not just what he can see, he’s much more than that. Something as strange and beautiful as a tiny ribbon of light that can be carried in the palm of your hand, yet capable of burning cities and hearts down.

He sighs and passes the chain around his neck, hiding the pendant under his t-shirt, too afraid of leaving it out in the open.

“Why do I feel like there’s always more? Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asks, feeling a little annoyed. What if there are more steps to climb before he can save Cas? What if there are parts of the story Jack is willingly keeping from him?

“Because it was not the right moment to tell you.” Jack answers, his eyes blinking softly. “Each thing comes when its time has come, when it is needed.” He stops, tilts his head a little, “If I had told you before, would it have changed a thing? Would you have renounced to come here and save Castiel?”

Dean stares at him for a few seconds, realizing he may just have acted like a fool in front of a celestial being whose knowledge is far greater than any man could pray for. “No” he murmurs, “I wouldn’t have.”

Jack gives him a last encouraging smile and turns back, his eyes closing to let the thread shine again.

 

Dean sighs and passes a hand on his face. He feels the sweat rolling down his spine, and he feels the way his belly is cold inside, and the way the air is tight in his lungs, and how his blood comes to boil in his veins. It’s something between numbness and rage.

Everything still feels like a dream, and he wishes he could just wake up and his mother would be there, and _Cas_ would be there too, and all of this would’ve been just a terrible nightmare. Almost instinctively, he raises his hand to touch the pendant, cool against his warm chest. The small weight of it reassures him, anchors him to the present.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the thin breeze blowing on the dry land and he listens to the sparse woods around. He hears the trees bending under the wind, the dust rolling on the ground, the water lapping somewhere, though they are far from the lake by now. He listens and he pretends he can feel deep in his chest where his mother is, where Cas is and that his feet can just lead him straight to them.

But he has no power, no eyes that shine of gold and he’s useless in this world. The thought of it hurts a little, and he feels very human in this moment. Miserable, tiny, _broken_. Unable to protect the ones he loves.

 

His dark thoughts stop swirling in his head when he hears Sam’s voice, clear and warm, bringing him back to reality.

“What’s this?” Sam asks, pointing at the sky.

Dean raises his head to follow the gesture and look at the gray stretch above his head. Right where Sam is pointing, there are two silhouettes slowly circling above the trees, a few miles ahead of them. Sam narrows his eyes, intrigued, as the two figures are rather large, despite the distance.

“Birds?” Dean suggests, though the vision seems odd to him. First, because they didn’t meet any kind of life since they got out of the portal, and second because the silhouettes are really oddly shaped: bigger than usual birds, with wings so wide he can see them from afar.

Jack follows their stare and he frowns, though a spark of awe shines briefly in his eyes.

“Yes, indeed. The cruelest and most beautiful birds of this world and the others” he says, voice soft and resonating all around them.

The brothers both turn to give him a questioning, confused look. “What does that mean?” Sam asks, worried. What if there are creatures that have nothing to do with the supernatural, but could still be lethal? Wild animals that survived and evolved and are ready to attack?

But his dread is soon replaced by this peculiar sensation of both pure black fear and bright blush wonder when Jack speaks again.

“Angels” he says, eyes full of light, his odd grace standing small under the trees, “They are angels.”

 

**X**

 

“Hurry” Jack suddenly says, starting to walk faster, his little steps leaving burnt marks on the ground again.

The Winchesters slowly lower their eyes to him, having hard time ripping their attention off the creatures circling above their heads. All they knew about angels, all they _thought_ they knew, has just been torn to pieces. Sure, they knew they could be terrifying, merciless beings that could send the deepest dread in the fiercest demon, but otherwise, they just appeared to be bitter smiles in suits.

“They can’t be” Sam murmurs, still in awe, looking back at the sky, like hypnotized, “We can’t see their wings, I mean, not really, just their shadows...”

Despite his fascination towards the celestial birds above the trees, Dean is suddenly brought back to reality by a pang of grief in his heart. The fact he never really saw Cas’ wings in flesh and feathers doesn’t mean it didn’t left him any less breathless when he first saw their shadow, just as it didn’t hurt any less when they burned the ground the night before.

“This is a different world.” Jack says, and Dean frowns at the worry spreading on the Nephilim’s features. “It is a world where demons and angels do not need to hide among humans. It is just their battlefield.”

Dean makes a few steps closer to him. “What’s wrong?” he asks, confused by Jack’s dread, his nervous glances to the skies and the woods and the brothers.

Jack shakes his head. “Humans’ only desire is too see these warriors leave, and they would do anything to get rid of them, even if that means staining the ground with a great bloodshed.”

“And?” Dean asks, puzzled, before realization freezes him, “Does that mean the Cas from this world could get killed before we reach him?” he asks, and he suddenly remembers the other Bobby telling them about angel killing bullets, and nausea moves in his stomach as he remembers his own childish excitement at the thought of it.

Jack blinks, now giving him an unsettled look back. “Yes, I suppose. I did not think about this.” He clenches his jaw, “What I meant, is that there is a reason for them to be out in plain sight.” He looks around, his eyes sweeping the horizon with dread. “There is a battle near us, I can feel it now.”

Sam steps forward, frowning. “Wait, like a fight between angels and demons? Right there?”

Jack nods. “Yes. As I said, they do not see the Earth as a home, or a shelter for humans, but as a wide space for their wrath to be unleashed.”

“But what happens if we get in the middle of one of those fights?” Dean asks, not sure if little hunting knives and guns will be of great use in front of dozens of demons and angels moved by fury.

Jack gives him a look that says everything. “They would certainly not mind a few human deaths” he says, making Dean shudder, “Whether they’re accidental, or not” Jack adds, making the fear settle entirely in his belly.

“Alright, so we better avoid them, right?” Dean asks with a nervous laugh.

“Yes, but that is not entirely for us that I am scared” Jack says, looking at the sky again “They seem to be near where your mother is.”

Sam and Dean look at each other, heart beating fast. “Do you think she’s in danger?” Sam asks, his fingers twitching of worry on his sides.

“Are you asking me if I believe she is safe in a world of destruction, surrounded by beings that have no pity whatsoever and would not mind about one human caught between them?” Jack asks, his voice bitter, “Then my answer is no. She could be killed just for their own amusement.”

Sam’s breath is caught in his throat. “We have to find her. Now” he says, and Jack nods, already turning back to walk so fast the brothers struggle to follow him.

They have not made a mile that a scream rips through the air, followed by evil growls and laughter and Jack’s eyes widen.

“Demons have found her” he says in a breath, “And the angels found them.”

 

And as if to prove his point, the two silhouettes above the canopy suddenly fold their wings and fly down to the ground like silver arrows, holy cries filling the skies.

 

**X**

 

They’re now running, feeling like fire is rushing through their legs, all their muscles and bones sore and heavy. Their breaths are loud, rapid and their eyes are alert, afraid.

 

Dean thinks that his body is going to give up, and that he’ll just drop on the ground, fall into sleep and eventually return to earth, let it enfold his burning lungs with fresh, damp fingers.

But he keeps moving, no matter how hard his ribs hurt, or how his vision is getting blurrier each second, or how his heart is tight of worry and fear and sorrow. The battle cries are growing louder in the woods, sounds like shooting stars and war planes ripping through the air and Dean can’t even imagine the raw chaos that it must be in the heart of the fight.

Jack is still leading them, eyes wide open of orange light, darkness on his brow as he runs fast among the trees, avoiding holes in the ground with the agility of a deer, all his senses awake. Dean trusts the half angel in him not to lead them straight into the unholy war raging just a few miles ahead of them.

He glances at his watch, foolish instinct for he knows it stopped working the second they entered this world. But he starts to feel the length of the day weighing down on him, and he now realizes, it never seems to end.

So overwhelmed by the cold feelings gnawing at his guts, he didn’t even realize the skies weren’t changing through time: there are no bright colors appearing on the horizon, and even less deep blue spreading over them like ink. He frowns, thinking he might just be confused, but it doesn’t change a thing.

 

Ironically, this land of darkness doesn’t know nighttime.

 

Sam is running by his side and when he turns his head to him, he sees his brother is already staring at him, as much as one can stare at another person while running in the middle of the woods. He sees in Sam’s eyes the same dread and anguish that is pulsing in his heart, and curiously, it reassures him a little.

He is about to give him a reassuring smile when Jack brutally stops and if he did not turn his head at the very last second, Dean would have run into him with violence. He stops a speck of dust away from the back of the Nephilim’s head, before he walks around him and gives him a questioning look, while trying to learn how to breathe again.

“What?” he asks, his throat dry and sore.

Jack doesn’t blink, or breathe. “Do not move” he orders.

The Winchesters exchange a confused look but stay silent, trusting Jack’s instinct on whatever might need their lack of words. They stand by his side, looking around like frightened little animals, gripping their blades and guns tight, and their knuckles are so tense they seem about to split.

Dean is about to open his mouth when suddenly he sees _them_.

 

A few feet away from them, a little group of demons is standing, ones like Dean has never seen before. Their skin is gray and ashy, and their eyes sunk into their faces, blacker than the night, without any light piercing through them as if they were black holes. But that is not the end of their odd appearance: when they open their mouths, Dean sees sharp little fangs coming out of them, making them smile like snakes. Their foreheads bear two little horns like the devils Dean saw in many fiction books, and he always laughed at them for he only knew how real demons looked. Now he feels terribly ashamed and foolish.

 

He holds his breath, not knowing what to do. They’re hidden from the demons’ sight by the trunks of the trees in front of them, and they did not seem to notice them in any other way. He gives Jadk a look, who commands him to be quiet.

“Step back, slowly” he says, but the brothers do not move.

“I think we can deal with a few demons, Jack” Sam says, frowning.

The Nephilim shakes his head. “Maybe with the ones from your world, but not these ones. They are different, stronger, and most of all, your friend Crowley is not here to keep them away from you.”

Dean feels a tiny string being pulled in his heart. “How do you know Cro-” he begins before he crosses Jack’s impatient stare, “Right, you know everything, I forgot” he says, rolling his eyes despite the gravity of the situation.

“Ok, let’s walk away then” Sam murmurs and all three of them move back at the same time, as if controlled by the same force, a thread connecting them together.

The demons slowly disappear from their sight as they dive into thicker woods, burnt bushes and gray trees surrounding them in a surprising shelter. They stay for a moment alert and nervous, looking around, preparing themselves in case a monster followed them to their little cage.

 

When they see nothing bursts out of the vegetation, Dean has a heavy sigh and lets himself fall down on the ground, his back against the rough surface of a tree. His t-shirt sticks to his back with hot sweat, his mouth is dry, his tongue slack, all his limbs tense and burning. When he raises his eyes, he sees Sam staring at him with a gentle look, and what could be pity in it.

And suddenly Dean remembers, his heart having a painful jolt.

For a few moments, he forgot everything. He was so busy following Jack closely and worrying the demons would see them that his mind went completely blank and all he could think of was _run, hide, run, hide, RUN._

But now he sees Sam having compassion for him, and he wonders why he looks at him such a way, and he remembers the night before, and the reason they are here. First, as they’ve been looking for her for the whole day, he thinks of his mother, and knowing she’s close and still far away makes him clench his jaw. He hopes she found a place to hide, just like them, and that she’s scared, but safe. His twisted mind tells him she might be severely wounded and bleeding somewhere, but he refuses to listen to it.

And then he remembers about Cas, and it’s like the night is falling now. It’s thousands of tiny, sharp pieces in his brain. One reminds him of the blade diving in Cas’ chest, of his body falling into the sand, the wings burnt on the ground. Another reminds him of how he has to find Cas in this other world, and how he might lose all strength if he sees him, and another one tells him he’s not the same here, and that there might be very few chances to get him back, that his desperate rescue mission might just get them all killed for nothing.

 

His brother is about to sit beside him when something moves in the bushes near them. They’re all suddenly alert and Dean gets back on his feet, knife in hand, even if this one shakes and the corner of his vision is getting black and blurry of tiredness.

The leaves shake and Dean is ready to see horned, distorted faces emerging out of the bushes, ready to see deep black eyes swallowing him hungrily and he hopes he’s awake enough to fight them. Dying there isn’t a solution he likes to consider.

So ready to see a monster coming out of the shadow, he apparently isn’t prepared enough to see a familiar silhouette bursting out of them instead, a halo of blonde hair floating around a soft face.

 

There’s a beat of silence where nothing moves, before Sam speaks, breathless.

“Mom?” he asks, hope shining in a smile that starts spreading.

 

Mary’s eyes open wider, and with thick black blood splattered on her face she whispers “My boys”, before Sam rushes to her and trap her in a bone-crushing embrace.

 

**X**

 

Mary has a little, warm laugh and wraps her own arms around her son’s waist, burying her head against his chest. Sam puts his chin on the top of her hair and closes his eyes, astonishment dripping through all the pores of his skin.

When he steps back, both of them have pearly tears in their irises, smile of gold spreading on their faces. Mary looks behind Sam and the curve of her mouth shines even more of joy when she sees Dean. She walks to him and surrounds him with motherly, desperate arms.

Dean blinks, his heart thundering in his chest and he only needs a second to give back the embrace. He holds his mother tight against him, the tiredness and despair making his soul heavy, yet she’s a little flame flickering in the dark and his hand clutches her jacket like a man holds onto a lifeboat in the ocean.

She moves back, and her hands are still on Dean’s arms as she watches him, overwhelming relief rushing through her. “Dean, what are you doing here?” she asks, before her eyes float to Jack, who stood a little behind them. She sees he’s wearing a plaid shirt and jeans way too big for him, definitely borrowed from someone else. Her expression shifts to surprise. “Is that…?”

“Yeah, Kelly’s kid” Dean answers with a small smile, too tired to even keep up on being aware of his surroundings. He steps back against the tree.

“But… he was supposed to be a baby?” Mary says, confusion piercing in her blue stare. She then realizes the Nephilim is still standing right there and that despite the mystery of his appearance and his less than one day long existence, he must not appreciate that she talks about him as if he was not present. She turns to Jack, an apologetic smile on her face. “Sorry, I’m Mary. Sam and Dean’s mom.”

Jack answers by a gentle smile that clearly unsettles Mary, who blinks several times, caught off guard by the tender expression in those eerie golden eyes. “I know” he answers in a whisper, “I felt you by my mother’s side.”

Mary seems to remember something and her face darkens. “Your mother… Is she….?” she asks, not knowing how to act.

Sorrow flashes by Jack’s eyes. “Yes, she is gone.” He then lowers his head, a lump on his throat.

Compassion flows through Mary’s face and she walks near him to put a light hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. She was a good person, and she loved you very much. I know it.”

The Nephilim has a poor little smile and Mary feels soft electricity passing from him to her fingertips, as if he was gently nudging her in return. She then turns to Sam and Dean. “Did you… you know, took care of her after she passed?”

Sam nods. “Yes, uhm, Jack did it, actually” he says, giving the Nephilim a side look. He remembers the way they came back to Kelly’s room and Jack’s breath got caught in his throat when he saw her lying there, lifeless. He apparently had no memory of walking to his own room, only moved by the terror he felt after emerging from the light, being nothing and then something, and his burning feet led him to that room that held so much of his mother.

 

Sam also remembers Jack brushing his fingers lightly over his mother’s hand, grief distorting his features, before he put them on her forehead and pale yellow fire had emerged from his fingertips and suddenly she was just gone. The only proof that something was here before was the thin layer of golden dust floating above the bed.

The scene had first froze Sam with horror, but he later realized there was some black poetry in Jack caring about his mother this way. He did not wanted her to decay in the soil, or to be torn by real, brutal flames. He chose to turn her into something precious, even if gold meant nothing next to what he could have had if Kelly was still alive.

 

He’s brought back to reality when Dean speaks, a confused look on his face. “When did he do it?” he asks, frowning as he does not see when the Nephilim could have possibly taken care of his mother’s body, since they went back home right after.

Sam opens his mouth, and suddenly his eyes darken, and he closes it again, before speaking after a moment of silence. “It was… You were outside…” he says, trying to be both clear and gentle, hoping his brother will understand without asking further details that may cause him a lot more pain.

Fortunately, or not, Dean understands immediately. “Oh” he says, and his features crumble back to grief, a new, blue wave crashing against his ribs. He lowers his head and cold sand and loud waters and _burnt wings_ fight their way back into his brain.

Mary sees the grieving twist of his features, and she frowns, before looking around, and she finally seems to notice something’s wrong. “Where’s Castiel?” she asks, now putting a face on the empty space near her boys. She then has a terrible thought. “He has come back, hasn’t he?” Seeing neither of her sons answer, her heart misses a beat. “Dean, where is he?”

Dean bites his tongue and tries to hold himself together. “Gone, he’s…. gone” he says in a breath, and when he meets his mother’s eyes, she’s startled by the pain she sees in them. “We’ve come here to get you and Cas back” he finally adds.

“Well, you have me back now” she says, stroking his arm with tenderness, trying not to be rough with him, as he seems so vulnerable in this moment, “But how are you going to bring him home?” She looks around, as if a familiar dark haired angel could emerge from the bushes at any moment. “Has he been sent here?”

“Yes” Sam answers, before correcting himself, “Well, not really. His grace left his body from our world, and now he’s in his other self… the Cas from this world.”

Mary’s eyes open wider. She turns back to Dean. “So what happens? Do you have to get it from him?”

“Ask him nicely, I guess” Dean says bitterly, “This is our only option.”

Mary nods, a bit overwhelmed by this new information. “Alright, and will he remember us in this world?”

“No,” Jack answers and she turns to him, still startled by his presence. “He is a complete different person. He is not the one you know.”

“Great” Mary says with sarcasm, crossing her arms on her chest.

 

There’s a moment where silence floats around them, heavy of turmoil and thoughts and then Dean asks “Did you see angels when you were out there?”

Mary nods, her eyes opening a little wider as if she was remembering something. “Sure I did. And they’re definitely not like Castiel.”

“You saw them? Really?” Dean says, his eyes filled with hope. “Where?”

“I don’t know, everything looks the same here” Mary answers, and seeing her son’s face crumble, she adds “But I did see them… flying to this direction” she says, pointing at their left. “Why?”

“Because Cas might be with them, and we have to find him, so we can leave as soon as possible” Sam answers, before he opens his bag and hands his mother some food and water.

“Thanks” she says, smiling warmly to him. She turns to Dean, “Do you want to rest before we go searching for him?” she gently asks.

Dean sighs and passes a hand on his face. His head hurts like hell, as if nails were diving in it from his temples, the sensation spreading to his cheekbones and jaw and bridges of his nose, all in an invisible mask of metal.

“I want to go now” he says, and seeing Sam and Mary’s worried expression, he raises a hand to reassure them, “I won’t, but just ‘cause I’m not sure if I can walk another minute, alright?” His mother and brother nod. “We’ll leave after everyone has slept, OK?”

 

Sam and Mary nod again, trying not to worry Dean any more. They walk behind the bushes at the back of the small clearing to find there’s another open space, not very large but enough for them all, surrounded on three sides by dense vegetation and on the other by a wide ditch with a river large enough to make the crossing difficult.

As Sam takes the first watch, he looks at the rest of the group settling as comfortably as possible. Jack curls up near a hollow trunk like a little animal, while Mary folds her jacket under her head and lies on the floor, soon falling asleep, the dark circles under her eyes making Sam’s heart ache.

He glances at Dean and sees this one did the same, his jacket and shirt under his cheek, his closed eyelids fluttering as he’s already dragged into slumber. Sam can’t help but have a small, sad smile when he sees his brother has pulled the necklace out of his t-shirt and is now holding the small pendant in his clenched palm, as if he could already feel Cas’ grace fluttering against his skin.

 

**X**

 

Dean hurries them behind Jack, all his blood boiling in his veins.

 

He was the last one to get up, and realized he didn’t keep watch at all, as neither Sam or Mary dared to wake him up, seeing the exhaustion painted clear on all his face. Besides, he had been shaken by awful nightmares during the whole time he slept, and to be truly honest with himself, he was grateful they let him rest a little more.

But now, he feels like the air is electric and time is running out, way too fast for him to follow, and he thinks of all the things that could go wrong before they can make it home, all safe and sound. They could get caught, or killed, or they could arrive too late and the Cas from this world would be gone too. Anguish spreads in his heart when he realizes the most evident exit out of this is that he’ll probably refuse to give them the tiny bit of grace they’re looking for.

His breaths are short but he keeps walking as fast as he can, ignoring the pain in his limbs. The little glass tube Jack gave him is moving against his chest at the rhythm of his steps, gently knocking on his ribs. As the hours pass, he realizes he’s staring to miss Cas in a devastating way. Sure, it happened before when he thought he was gone for good too, but now the grief mixed with the fear and soreness makes it barely bearable.

It’s like a rock weighing down on his chest, sinking into his flesh, crushing his lungs with every breath he takes. He felt the prickle of tears in his eyes for several times since they arrived, and each time he swallowed them back, not understanding why it felt so hard, why he couldn’t just erase the memory of the night before from his mind.

 

Behind him, Sam walks by his mother’s side, trying to find some comfort in her bright hair and soft eyes. “Mom?” he says, and she turns her head to him, “Why were the demons after you?”

“I don’t know” she says with a small, tired smile. “I didn’t see many other humans, but every time I did, they were like _hunted_. By demons or angels.”

“Hunted?” Sam repeats, confused. “Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know” Mary says again, shaking her head. “For fun? Or maybe to get more soldiers or servants?”

“Yeah, that’s possible” Sam answers, shivering at the thought of humans held captive by mythical beings, and serving as funny little toys, or canon fodder. He then frowns deeper, “What about Lucifer?”

Mary’s mouth turns into a thin, bitter line. “He attacked me when he realized we were both trapped here. I hit him like I did before and when he was on the ground, I ran away as far as I could.” She sighs, exhausted. “I don’t know where he is now, but I felt like he was following me.”

Sam passes an arm around his mother’s shoulders and she leans against him for a moment, enjoying the gentle warmth coming from him.

 

Dean is so lost in his thoughts that his breath is blown out of his lungs when Jack yanks him out of the field he started walking on after pushing the bushes aside.

He turns around to look at the Nephilim, unsettled and breathless. “What?” he manages to say, his chest aching.

As an answer, Jack shows him the space behind the bushes with a gesture of his chin. Dean frowns but still slowly moves the branches aside. It’s not quite a field he was about to enter, but some sort of immense clearing, a large space surrounded by mountains, the ground dry and dusty and gray.

 

And then he realizes everything is gray here. He turns around, frowning, but no, the forest is still tainted of the same muddy brown he saw when he entered it. But in the pale field, it’s as if everything is covered by ash, and only rare dry plants are growing here and there, and there seems to be no water anywhere. The sky is incredibly dark, still not enfolded by night, but stormy and moving and growling of big, black clouds, with bright red lightning striking the earth with loud sounds of glass breaking.

 

He holds his breath, heart beating fast. “What’s that?” he asks Jack, pointing at some sort of tall pikes that remind him of angel blades.

“Trophies” the Nephilim answers, eyes and brow dark.

Dean turns back and sees there are several bodies impaled on some of the blade-totems. He shudders. “Why is it different from there?” he asks.

“It was like this when we first got here, Dean” Sam says, arriving at his height. He frowns. “You don’t remember?”

Dean opens his mouth, puzzled. He has vague memories of the first time Cas took them into the parallel world, but they are blurry, as if they only once existed in his imagination. And now that he thinks of it, most of the night before feels like a dream, and only small parts of it float in his conscience, as if he was simply forgetting the others…

“Not really” he admits in a murmur, frozen at the idea the shock may have swept away some parts of his mind. What if grief was slowly erasing parts of his life? What if he was going to forget about a color, a place, a song, a _person_?

 

His mouth goes dry. Could sorrow erase Cas from his mind? Could his brain let go of these exhausting, painful memories so he could walk free again?

No matter how mad it sounds, he would rather keep them, because full of ache or not, they’re still memories of Cas and if he doesn’t succeed, memories will be all he’ll have left of him.

 

He sighs. “So what’s the problem?” he asks Jack, “I don’t see anyone there.”

“Yes, it seems empty, but we would be more easily visible from the sky if we walk through this field.”

“Alright, so we bypass it through the forest?” Sam asks.

Jack nods. “Yes, it’s safer.”

Dean sighs again. How can they find Cas if they keep avoiding the places where he might be? He gives the field a last bitter look before he follows the rest of the group in the woods.

The wind is blowing harder near the border between the soft, calm forest and the burnt clearing, forcing Dean to protect his face with his hand, the breeze carrying sand, itching his nose and already tearing eyes, and he winces, feeling like the hours of rest he had did not affect him in any way. He’s already sore and dried up like a river in the desert.

Their walk through the woods seems to never end. Dean doesn’t know if it’s been minutes, or hours, or even days, he just knows the same landscape keeps unraveling around him as they step away from the frontier with the land illuminated by blood red lightning.

 

He’s falling into his thoughts again when he hears something moving on his right. He stops, all senses alert and he calls the rest of the group with a slow, hushed voice. They turn back and gather around him, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” Sam says.

“I heard something” Dean whispers in return, before he looks at Jack. “Can’t you see what it is?”

“I am half human, Dean” he answers, slightly annoyed. “I do not have limitless powers, and when I do have some abilities, they are mostly tied to the persons I share a bond with.”

Dean nods. “OK, I’ve got a plan” he says and they get closer to him, eyes full of questions. “I say we split up to see if we find something.”

Sam steps back, shaking his head. “Dean, that’s a bad idea. What if there’s really something and one of us get caught?”

“We just go to check around, and we immediately come back here” Dean says, marking the ground with a circle, the tip of his shoe diving in the muddy earth. Mary, Sam and Jack seems to think, and so he continues, “Listen, we all want to go home, but I won’t come back without Cas, understood?” he says, teeth clenched.

Mary frowns, making a step to him. “Dean, we know that you won’t-”

“Great” he cuts her off, and she sees he has to clench his fists to stop the trembling of his hands, “But we can’t find him if we don’t start searching. So we all go see what’s around here and if something bad comes up, shoot once” he says, searching in his bag before he takes out a gun and puts it in Jack’s hands. “There,” he says, “Now we go.”

He doesn’t wait for them to protest and already adjusts the shoulder strap of his bag. Sam seems to be resigned and gives him one of the sorrowful look that he’s the master of. “Just be careful, OK?” he says, not looking like he can go without an answer from his brother.

“Always am” Dean answers and he gives a look at his little group. “Just meet me here as soon as you can, and don’t get caught.”

They all nod and each of them picks a direction, before they dive into the woods that are greener here, as if a little cloud of rain had been floating there, and only there. Dean leaves right after, just to see his mother and brother’s eyes fierce and determined, and Jack’s filled by bright, furious light.

 

Dean enters a small path, and he has hard time walking through the thick ferns and branches, his pace constantly slowed down by leaves and roots in the ground. He tries to be as fast as he can, looking around, hoping and dreading at the same time he might find an angel, or maybe a human who could tell him where the winged beings might be. But there’s nothing, and his heart is a little more clenched with each seconds that pass where all he can see is the woods unraveling indefinitely with silence.

He sighs and stops for a second, his breath too rapid, hurting his ribs and head. He leans against a tree, his head against the cool, rough surface of it. Almost instinctively, his hand reaches to the little weight under his t-shirt and he pulls the pendant out of it. He looks at it for a few seconds, turning it over in his fingers, observing the small prism where Cas is supposed to be.

His throat is tight and he feels the sorrow grab his lungs again, and his eyes start to burn, but he fights back against the feeling. He’s terrified, that’s true, _terrified_ of failing his mission, of failing Cas.

 

He realizes with horror that he doesn’t know what it must feel like for him. Is he still conscious of being something, _someone_? Does it feel like he’s trapped in some dark cage, suffocating and alone?

The thought of Cas trying to escape his prison in vain finishes to turn Dean’s heart into dust.

 

He bites his tongue and puts the necklace back into safety, takes a deep breath and continues walking. As he moves further into the forest, an odd feeling starts prickling on his skin, thousands of small knives jabbing his arms and spine. He looks around, not seeing the cause of this sensation but there’s definitely something magical, _divine_ even, floating in the air, he can feel the raw taste of it on the tip of his tongue, feel it burning his nose and eyes and ears. It’s like smoke, but icy cold and it feels like silver fingertips dragged across his throat.

He arrives at an intersection. He has a look back, trying to evaluate the distance between him and the place where he’s supposed to me the rest of the group. He doesn’t think he has left for too much time, so he turns on one side, pushed by his instinct.

He arrives and sees the trail lead to a dead end. He groans and is about to turn away, when something rustles in the bushes near him. He stops, eyes wide open, chest silent as he looks around, searching for the source of the noise. Moved by a feeling deep in his guts, he enters the thick forest, trying to be as quiet as possible as all his muscles are tense, ready to fight if anything decides to jump on him.

 

He arrives at the end of the little copse and stands in the shadow of the trees for a few seconds, squinting to see the space behind it, illuminated in raw, white light. He approaches, knife held tight in his hand, gun in the other, and the trees are wide and tall around him, far away from the slender little things he saw before. It’s as if the world keeps shifting around him, as if patches of different universes had been stitched together to create another, chaotic one.

He approaches until he’s nearly out in the light and suddenly there’s a roar of pure anger. He holds back a jolt of surprise and hides behind the trunk of an old tree, trying to peek into the clearing while keeping himself out of the sight of God knows what is in it.

And suddenly there is another scream, and another, and another until it feels like an unholy choir, a melody of white noise and blood and claws on a black board. Dean winces, trying not to move, but the cry swells and swells until it becomes almost beautiful. In front of him, the source of that cacophony appears and even he, as a hunter, has a little step back.

 

There are at least a dozen of demons here, gathered in a small group, as if tied together by some invisible evil thread. But they’re not just humans with deep black eyes, like the ones Dean is used to. No, they’re real monsters coming right out of nightmares. Now that he’s closer, he sees how they really look, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

Their skin is gray and cracked, their veins black and red, glowing under the flesh. Some even have long claws and Dean can only imagine the same claws plucking eyes and tongues like fresh, juicy fruits. It shakes a nauseous feeling in his stomach as he notices the sharp fangs in their mouths full of blood, as if they had just took voracious bites on a very alive meal. Some also have long tails moving nervously behind them, others long, pointy horns covered in long, bloody threads Dean prefers not to identify.

But the most disturbing is still their eyes. They’re fully black, not different from normal demons to Dean, but there’s something _more_ in them, a deeply rooted, animal anger circling inside of them like vultures. It’s like they would only need one look to make you fall on your knees, and they would eat you whole, while you’d still be paralyzed by fear.

 

Suddenly, the demons have little, strident hisses as they gather closer together, giving dark looks to the skies, fists and jaw clenched, their muscles tense like bows. Dean tries to look at the source of their fury but it’s hidden from him by the tall trees. He’s ready to move discreetly, but he’s stopped by the sudden arrival of new silhouettes, and the shock blows his breath away.

Facing the demons, there is a little group of angels, barely five of them against the dozens of evil creatures. Each of them is different, and Dean doesn’t know what to look at. Their skin color ranges from milky white to dark ebony, their eyes are somber or full of light, their smiles both hungry and holy. Their weapons are different too, each of them possessing a unique one: there are small knives of crystal, sharp blades of ivory or long swords of silver, each delicately crafted with strange patterns on the handle.

And they have wings. Immense, feathered, shivering _wings_. Dean can’t help but stare at them, mouth agape. There are short ones, and immense ones, and brown ones like birds’, and silver ones like statues’. It’s beyond Dean’s knowledge of everything that’s strange, and impossible.

 

One of the angel has a battle cry that makes all the forest shiver, and the winged beings raise their weapons to the sky. A second after, demons and angels collapse against each other, and Dean couldn’t tell them apart in that chaos of feathers and horns. There are screams of pain and rage, sticky sounds of blades diving into flesh, blood flowing black on the mud. He sees fists pale like the moon knocking teeth out of evil grins, and claws like burning charcoal grabbing handfuls of soft feathers. Everything is sweat and grace and darkness.

He just knows the battle is soon over and the angels visibly lost, the demons too numerous to be fought back, even if there are several horned corpses on the ground. The celestial beings crawl on the wet floor, their faces distorted by pain and their wings are folded close to their bodies, soaked in demon’s blood. One of the evil beasts kicks an angel in the stomach and this one rolls on the ground with a little cry of pain. Another demon grabs an angel by her hair and bites her neck like an animal. She screams but the sound is soon drowned by the blood spurting out of her mouth.

 

The few angelic survivors try to stand on their shaking legs, and start walking away, holding each other, giving the demons hateful looks, spitting at their feet. One has hot tears streaming down his face, clenching his jaw has he holds his side, blood flowing from a deep wound. The wings of another hang on the dirt, as she seems unable to lift them again.

They try to walk away, one even telling the demons they surrender, but the evil creatures smile with all their hideous yellow teeth and walk to them, fingers clawing the air as if they were already diving into angelic flesh.

Dean thinks he should do something, as much as the idea of getting into the middle of a biblical fight is the last thing he wants to do. But he can’t bear the sight of those wounded angels, of the wide wing prints on the ground after the demons ripped out their hearts and light burst out of their wounds.

He clenches his jaw and stays silent, slowly stepping back to join Sam, Mary and Jack. If he has to confront the angels, he probably shouldn’t be alone. He moves back into the shadow of the trees, holding his breath to be sure he’s not heard from the creatures, when a new silhouette lands in front of him.

Dean stops moving, his eyes opening wide at the sight of the warrior’s enormous, glossy black wings, spread to the skies, hiding the pale sun from him. He cannot see his face from where he is, and unwillingly, he’s pulled back to where he stood before, observing the scene like a curious child.

 

Everything happens so fast. The new angelic soldier moves swiftly and precisely, and suddenly there are two long knives in his hands, with golden handles and sharp blades that shine as if made of diamonds and moonlight. He orders the other angels to leave and these ones do not wait any longer, they run away, half stumbling, half fluttering above the ground, rapidly quitting the battlefield.

The demons have mocking little laughs, but they’re soon drowned by the sound of gigantic wings flapping in the wind and suddenly the angel warrior jumps and lands among them, and his moves are blurry to the human eye, so fast that all Dean can see is the shine of the blades and the black blood bursting from the demons’ veins, before they fall down on their knees, holding their damp throats.

A few more moves and all the demons are down, drowning in their own darkness, the angel’s blade dripping of a thick, sticky substance. The angel looks at their lifeless bodies, his wings still spread wide on his sides, and now Dean can see how they join on his back, diving under the fabric of his white shirt, spurting like odd black blossoms.

Now sure he’s not safe if he’s alone, he decides to walk away and find the rest of the group, as they must start to worry something happened to him. He slowly steps back, still staring at the warrior, trying to be as quiet as Jack when he ran through the woods, racing above the damp ground like a ghost.

 

And then his foot lands on a dry root and the breaking sound seems to fill the entire forest.

 

His heart stops beating and he just has the time to see the angel turning back in a swift move, before he jumps behind a large tree, making his body as small as possible, even if all his limbs shake, and his breath is loud and terrified.

He waits for a moment, but there’s no move around him and after long, long minutes he thinks the angel has left, for the place is incredibly silent around him. _Too_ silent even.

It’s not just the low humming that fills your ears when there’s no sound around, but a deep, plain nothingness where he can’t even feel life around, and inside of him. It feels like Death, cold and silent _Death_.

He clenches his jaw and dares to look behind the tree, hoping the two blades of gold and diamond won’t find his chest when he’ll turn. His heart is now thundering behind his ribs and the corners of his vision are getting blurry, pulsing of terror.

He looks behind the trunk, and all his body becomes numb when he sees the woods are empty. He has a small sigh of relief. The angel has left, having more serious problems to solve than a little crack in the woods. The clearing is totally empty, at the small exception of the demons and angels’ bodies, still laying on the ground.

Dean’s heartbeats slow down and he starts to see clear again, his grip on his weapons becomes slack. There’s no threat now, except maybe his mother when he’ll arrive long after them.

He turns back with a small smile at this thought, before he’s suddenly pushed against the trunk with such force his breath is blown out of his lungs. The back of his head hits the wood so hard he sees black for a moment, before he blinks several times and feels the hands gripping his collar, and sees the face a breath away from his.

 

Then, he doesn’t know what strikes his heart like voracious, blinding, wonderful lightning.

The fact there’s an angel staring at him with eyes like furious blazes of ice burning the depths of his soul, and wings spread wide on his sides, casting shadows on all the world around.

 

Or the fact that facing him, divine and terrifying under the tall trees, there’s Castiel.

 

 


	3. Of Beauty and Rage

They stay silent for a moment. Time stretches and stretches and Dean starts to think it might have just stopped. Or maybe it’s just his heart that let out a last sigh of exhaustion and stopped its furious race behind his ribs.

The whole forest became quiet too. There’s still the same lack of sound, of breath, of _life_. The wind started blowing, hard, and it’s cold like a thousand winters. Dean shudders and no matter if the trees bend and crack around him, he just can’t take his eyes off Castiel.

This one is keeping him pinned against the tree like a needle pins a moth to the wall. And Dean doesn’t know how to breathe anymore, as if his lungs stopped working, and his mind went blank like a wide stretch of gray water. He just stares at Cas, mouth half open, speechless.

He’s just the same. Always a little bit shorter than Dean, but this one still feels small and vulnerable under his stare. It’s still the same bright blue eyes staring back at him, the same frown above them, the same dark hair curling behind his ears. Dean can’t help but let his eyes trail on all his features, feeling like he didn’t see him in a lifetime, and he sees little details of his face he never saw before, or maybe that he just forgot, drowned in all the ache and sorrow of the night before.

There’s a sun in his belly, warm gold spreading inside of him, and he just wants to grab Cas’ face between his hands, let his fingertips dive in his hair, and then pull him close and hold him against his chest, and never let him go, and just forget about bloody sand and burnt wings.

He feels himself leaning towards Cas in a desperate move, tears bubbling in his eyes, and all he can think is how _close_ he is and how warm his breaths are on his skin and how damn much he missed him, how he still misses him in that very moment for the ice in his lungs is still there, melting inside of his body, making him drip of sorrow.

 

But then, reality seems to snap back to him, violently. Seeing Dean is getting dangerously closer, Cas has a move back, his wings having a nervous beat behind him.

And then the soft glow that seemed to spread in Dean’s mind bursts like a bubble and suddenly he sees it’s not Cas, or at least not _his_ Cas. His throat becomes tight, his mouth dry and his backbone covered of hot sweat.

It looks like Cas, but it’s not him. His eyes are bright blue, but they’re not confused and gentle and sad, they are cold and full of wrath, making his soul crawl deep behind his ribs. His hair is dark and soft-looking but it’s all ruffled, strands of it falling on his forehead, not neatly combed on one side. He wears a white shirt and black pants, but no tie or trenchcoat, and his collar is opened for a few buttons, his breathing slow and deep underneath.

And of course, there are the wings. Not wide shadows appearing on barn walls with storms and light, but huge, black wings. The feathers closest to his body are short and downy, moving in the wind, while the largest ones are thin and sharp, outstretched on his sides.

It’s not him. It’s _another_ him.

 

Dean focuses back on Castiel’s face and something hurts in his chest. “Cas?” he blurts unwillingly.

Castiel frowns and the vague confusion that painted his features a second ago disappears. He lowers his head to dive his eyes into Dean, and this one shivers violently at the wrath in them, electric and terrifying. “Who are you?” Castiel asks, and his voice is not soft and low, but deep and threatening, rolling like thunder in the distance.

The question nearly rips a cry of pain out of Dean. “Cas” he repeats, hopeless, “It’s me, _Dean_.” he says, trembling of grief and frustration.

Castiel only considers him with his dark eyes. “I don’t know you” he says, cold as ice. He clenches his jaw. “What are you doing here?”

Dean shivers. Castiel is holding him very close, and despite the pain of the rough wood diving in his back, he can only focus on his eyelashes and hair and breaths and mouth. “Listen-” he begins, water moving violently inside his stomach. He feels like he’s about to overflow, dissolve and fade away, only leaving dry land after him.

This Castiel is apparently not a very patient one. He grabs both lapels of Dean’s coat and roughly pushes him against the trunk, his teeth appearing in a near growl. “I said,” he snaps, his voice hard like diamonds, “What are you doing here?”

Dean can now feel the fear rising back in his lungs. If it was _his_ Cas, he’d probably have talked his way out of the storm, if _his_ Cas ever got into such a brutal mood. But there, it’s another him, one who has no mercy and no compassion, one who hates and hates and hates, everything but the Heavens, who only sees the rest as a threat.

He swallows hardly, and he just doesn’t know what to say. Castiel clearly wants an answer, and now, but he just _can’t_. What could he say, after all? That he’s from another world and that he came to take a part of him? That this part is just his other self, but different, softer, one Dean misses so much it hurts with acid in his lungs?

“It’s hard to explain” he says in a breath, Castiel’s hands crushing his chest under their angelic weight.

That seems to be the point of no return for Castiel. Suddenly, his wings snap open on his sides, the largest feathers reaching the sky, and his eyes are filled with blinding pools of white-blue light. “If you cannot talk, then you will die” he says, his voice low, resonating in Dean’s chest.

His heart misses a beat out of fear. “No, no, no you can’t do that” he says, eyes open wider, raising his hands to try to calm Castiel down. This one only sees it as an attempt to attack and with a move so fast Dean cannot see it, he releases one of the lapels of his jacket and suddenly a blade of gold and diamond appears in his hand, and then it’s under Dean’s throat, cold against his skin.

“Really?” he says, pushing the blade deeper.

 

Dean freezes, certain that the slightest move will be a fatal mistake and Castiel won’t even blink to the sight of his blood flowing free. He lowers his hands, slowly, before he takes a shaking breath in and dives his eyes into Castiel’s.

He doesn’t know what hurts him the most. The fact Cas is right here, and he’s flesh and bone and he feels him against and inside his chest, or the way the gentle blue eyes he knows are now cold and wrathful, weapons from the skies above. He grits his teeth, and he just wants to collapse against Cas, bury his head against him until there’s nothing left but soft darkness.

But he can’t. So he gathers his strength and tries to push back the blue wave rising inside him. “I came to this world to find someone” he says.

Castiel frowns, his eyes still two dots of milky light. “Where were you before?” he asks, words pulsing in Dean’s hands and veins and head.

“You won’t believe me if I told you” he murmurs, all the world darkening around them, only leaving Cas and his grace to his sight.

The angel has a mocking smile that makes Dean shudder. It’s a cruel curve of his mouth, a one sided, proud smirk that he never, ever saw on Cas’ face. “You can try” he says, scornful.

“Alright, then” Dean answers, and with an air of defiance he says, “I’m coming from another world where I hunt monsters. I save people from them, ‘cause most humans don’t even they exist. There was no war between Heaven and Hell, and no apocalypse. Angels and demons can come on Earth, but most of the time they do nothing I can’t deal with.” He takes a small breath, taking the time to observe Castiel’s reaction but this one keeps staring at him blankly. He continues, “Ah, and your brother Lucifer? He decided to have a kid with a human, and now the baby is born and apparently he doesn’t want to destroy the world? He also sent me here so I can save the people I care about.”

_That_ wipes Castiel’s contemptuous facade away. The pressure of the blade on Dean’s neck loosens. He blinks a few times, and Dean nearly has a smile of victory, before he remembers that breathtaking, winged being isn’t Cas and he cannot laugh with him, he cannot be close to him.

The angel frowns. “Other worlds do not exist” he says firmly, but Dean can see the doubt circling in his eyes.

“They do” he answers, moving against the tree as all his bones begin to be sore, “I thought it was the worst version possible, but now I know there’s yours.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Lucifer has been dead. For centuries.”

Dean clenches his jaw. “Lucky you. He’s pretty much alive in the place I come from.” He then remembers a thing. “Except now he’s here too.”

Castiel’s eyes widen a little, and his wings become tense on his sides. “You have unleashed Lucifer on this world?”

Dean scoffs. “I mean, it’s not like it can get any worse here-”

“It can” Castiel snaps, his eyes having a furious blow of light before fading back to tormented blue. He shakes his head again. “I don’t believe you” he says, diving his irises into Dean. “If this world is as wrong as you say, why would you come here?”

“Told you,” Dean says, “I’m here to bring two persons back into my world.”

“Who are they?” Castiel asks, his teeth clenched, but visibly curious, and less and less wary.

“My mom” Dean answers, and he feels a pang in his chest. His family must be searching for him now, as the minutes keep falling one by one and he’s not coming back. But the flame of worry becomes a fire of grief when he adds, “And my friend.”

“Who are they? Your friend?” Castiel asks, his head slightly tilting on one side, his eyes narrowing to observe Dean, and this one thinks the Universe is definitely playing with him.

“Hm” Dean starts, now lost. How can he even explain the situation when this Castiel has such hard time believing in the existence of other worlds, he the celestial being who lived for centuries? He lets out a little sigh. “He… He’s an angel.”

_Bloody sand, lapping waters, burnt wings, heart shattering, night falling, grief, so much grief._

Castiel blinks twice, unsettled, and this time he has a step back, wings curling around him. “Angels and humans don’t befriend” he says, frowning.

Dean has a sad smile. “Yeah, I used to think that too” His smile fades and he aches. “Guess I was wrong.”

Castiel’s eyes darken. “I can try to believe you’re from another world, but I can’t believe you and one of my brothers experienced mutual friendship, and that you came here for him” he says in one breath, shaking his head of doubt. “Besides, you did not tell me what happened to him.”

Dean’s throat tightens. “He…” he blinks, and suddenly his eyes get glassy. He bites his tongue and tries to swallow them back. He can’t be vulnerable, not now. “He died.” He takes a shaking breath. “In my world, at least. Now he’s here and I have to get him back.”

“Why?” Castiel abruptly asks, making Dean’s heart jump in his chest.

“What?” he says, puzzled.

“Why do you have to get him back?” Castiel asks, narrowing his eyes, visibly doubtful about his intentions. An angel is not supposed to get close to a human, just as a human is not supposed to cross the frontiers between worlds to save said angel...

 

Dean stays silent for a moment, mouth half open, not knowing what to say. Then, “Because I don’t think I can live if he’s not around.”

Castiel’s breath seems to get stuck in his lungs. His heart of ice seems to beat a little faster, and he is just lost. All the humans he ever met only felt disgust, or rage, or fear towards him.

He feels the pull of grief and longing in his grace. Could a world without such feelings really exist? Could humans and angels meet each other’s eyes without feeling the animal hunger to tear each other apart?

“Who is he?” he asks, feeling a little warmth towards the human standing in front of him. After all, he just looks scared and desperate, and Castiel just feels so tired in this moment he might just try to help him.

Dean feels like standing on the edge of a narrow cliff, the ocean roaring at his feet. One little mistake and it’s a step into the empty. “You’re not going to believe me if I tell you” he says, echoing his first words.

Castiel has a very thin, but gentle smile that sends colors into Dean’s belly. “I did believe you the first time.”

Dean nods, and swallows hardly. This is never going to work, he is going to refuse, and he will have to come back to their world without Cas, the little prism empty, his heart like ashes.

“I call him Cas” he murmurs, lowering his eyes, dreading that lightning might just strike him where he stands. “But his real name’s Castiel.”

 

There, the words fall, heavy like comets hitting the ground, and the silence crashes around them, even more suffocating than before, like a lid covering the sky, making it dark and tumultuous and angry. Dean stares at his feet and the brown dirt for a moment, clenching his jaw as he feels the worry spreading in his guts.

Then, he decides he can’t wait any longer and he raises his eyes, only to meet Castiel’s stunned, shiny look.

“What?” the angel whispers, visibly under shock, and filled with incomprehension.

Dean makes a small step to him. “I know it’s going to sound crazy, but when he… when he died his grace went to this world, and it was trapped inside yours.” He stops, breathless, hopeless. “He’s trapped inside of you.”

Castiel shakes his head, his wings folding even closer to his body. “No, you must be mistaken. I’m not the one you’re looking for” he says, giving Dean a hurt look that leaves the hunter unsettled.

He makes another step towards the angel. “I know you’re not believing me. But just try to remember OK? Didn’t you feel like you just got something new inside of you? Like you suddenly felt-” He stops, not knowing what to say before he remembers Jack’s words, “More _whole_ than before?”

Castiel freezes entirely, his wings now shivering as if cold, or afraid. “I- I did but I can’t- I can’t help you” he says, eyes only opening wider when he sees Dean getting closer to him.

“I know you don’t want to lose that feeling, but I have to find Cas. I have to bring him back with me.” He stops, heart thundering behind his ribs. “ _To_ me.” He approaches again. “I just need you to let go of his grace, and then I’m gone, and I swear to God you’ll never see me again.”

Castiel shudders. He feels it now, the little thread of light that is now connected to his grace. It’s pulsing in his head and heart, feeling like a stranger and yet something he knows as well as he knows himself.

“I can’t do that” he says, making Dean stop, as if he had just been hit by a blow in the stomach. “It’s a part of me now and… I can’t give it to you.” He closes his eyes, clenching his jaw. “You have to go.”

Dean shakes his head, desperate. “Please” he insists, begging, “You didn’t have it before. It’s not _you_.”

“I know” Castiel answers, eyelids still shut tight as if he was trying to repress the cries coming from that tiny thread of light inside of him. “And I’m sorry. But I just can’t give it to you.”

“ _Please_ ” Dean repeats, tears now completely streaming down his face, his features distorted of pure, raw pain. “I’m not the only one who wants him back, there’s my brother and my mom and-”

 

His last words seem to trigger something in Castiel. He suddenly raises his head, and his eyes open again, and Dean shivers when he sees the cold in them. “What did you say?” the angel asks, his face slowly going back to the marble mask of contempt and rage Dean first saw.

“I don’t- I didn’t say anything” Dean begins, before Castiel makes a few wide steps to him, stopping a breath away from his face.

“Are there more humans with you?” he asks, anger and fear swirling in his eyes in an acrid color.

“Yes, just my brother and-” Dean begins and it’s his mistake.

Castiel’s eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw, thunder growls in the distance, or around them, or inside of Dean, the hunter doesn’t know. He suddenly feels very small under the electric eyes and immense wings and ring of blue fire around Castiel’s head.

“It’s a trap” the angel murmurs, shaking his head as if he was realizing something, bitter and hurt and broken.

Dean’s eyes open wider. “What? No!” he exclaims, worry gnawing his bones.

But it’s too late. Castiel’s eyes darken even more. He dives them into Dean’s, and they do not blink, they’re empty and cruel and holy. “You made me come here and you told me all your lies so you and the other humans could gather to kill me” he says, and it somehow feels like betrayal.

How could he believed for one second that this human was friendly, that he was not here to rip his wings, step on his bones, spit on his grace?

Dean feels desperate. “No, I would never do that!” he says, trying to convince Castiel, when he just can’t, no matter what he’ll do. “Not to _you_!”

Castiel has a small, sarcastic laugh, and he looks around, his eyes sounding the woods around, his senses alert, trying to see where the threat is, static buzzing around him. He then turns back to Dean, cold like the ocean. “I won’t let you kill me, or my brothers” he says, his voice low and blank and inhuman.

“I won’t do that” Dean repeats, his voice broken and scared, “You know me!”

Castiel’s eyes are voids of swirling light. “I don’t know you” he says, and the night seems to fall upon them.

“But _he_ knows me…” Dean whispers with a cry, praying, begging he could reach out to Cas one way or another, wishing he could just see him, and hold him, and take his face in his hands and just-

 

His thoughts are drowned out when Castiel’s ghostly eyes get closer and his glacial fingertips touch Dean’s forehead, and suddenly the darkness swallows him and he falls on the ground, unconscious.

 

**X**

 

The light screams and screams and screams.

 

It is trapped there, in its prison of flesh and bones, and it can’t escape, and even if it could, it’s not sure of what it could do. After all, it’s just threads and threads of sky intertwined together, nothing else.

“Stop” it thinks, again and again, but its prison won’t listen, it walks and walks, shaking the light’s voice away, drowning it in choirs and rules and misery.

“Stop” it thinks, and its heart aches, the core of its being burns of grief and it bleeds blue in the dark. It just wants to go back in time and start it all over again. It doesn’t want to be captive here forever, it doesn’t know if it will survive it.

 

The light hisses of fury when new hands grab the barely breathing being his prison has been dragging for a while now. It spits of hatred and it flows from its vessel’s head to its fingertips, trying to comfort its little sun as he aches and grieves and cries inside.

It reassures him through low lullabies and soft, invisible waves, while howling of rage at its prison. It’s not its decision, not its world, not _its_ sun, and it can’t treat him this way. It can’t take him away and carry him through the gray field and throw him on the ground where he falls heavily, still in the arms of forced, violated slumber.

And the light cries too, for it wants to escape, for at least one second, and flow around its sun’s arms and chest and wraps itself around his sore head, and eases his bruises and worries. Just one second to heal his wounds and press fresh fingers to his temples, kiss the pain on his eyelids, the dust on his knuckles.

 

But it’s stuck, and stuck, and all it can do is watch. Its prison is cold and cruel and merciless, and all it wants to do is kill that little meaningless being that dared to trick it.

(And yet, it’s filled with doubt. What if the human was saying the truth? What if it was really searching for that tiny, stubborn spark inside of him, that light that keeps shouting at the top of its ethereal lungs?)

 

The light tries to tell its cage it must be set free, and it promises it will take his sun and fly away, and leave this hell of a world, and let it finish its cursed war without ever looking back.

But it doesn’t listen, never listens, and it pushes the light back into its skull, and it’s drowned into the abyss, having a last cry for its bright sun whose eyelashes are just starting to flutter open.

 

**X**

 

Pale daylight peeks under Dean’s eyelids as he slowly wakes, body heavy like a storm, his head full of clouds. His tongue is dry, his throat ablaze and his lungs tight. He tries to blink several times and become aware of his surroundings but it’s like all his limbs are not willing to do so.

“Wake up.”

That new voice makes him sit with a jolt. His back leans against the wall, only to have the other surprise of sinking into it. His eyes open wide, and he looks around, startled. He’s no longer in the woods, and neither is he in any place he knows. He’s in some kind of wide tent, the kind made with wide, bones-colored fabric that flaps in the wind like sinister flags on a battlefield.

His eyes then travel around the room he’s in. There’s not much furniture in it, only a small bed, a few boxes and a wide table covered of maps, sheets of paper, books and weapons.

 

Dean blinks. _Weapons_.

But it’s no guns, or small hunting knives. No, it’s long shiny swords with golden handles, rubies and emeralds among the warm metal, and it looks like there are northern lights dancing underneath the blades, liquid diamonds trapped under the silver and blood and dust.

There are also several other weapons, and they’re neither divine nor beautiful. There are short blades and knives and swords, entirely black. From handle to blade, they seem to be made of hurricanes and darkness, red lightning moving under the odd metal. They’re sharp and threatening, just like the golden ones, except they shake different feelings in Dean’s stomach.

The silver blades are made to fight, the black ones to kill. When the first are meant to elegantly dive into your heart, the latter are made to cut your throat, and make the blood flow hard, without mercy. As Dean’s eyes narrow on the black knives, he sees they’re covered in thick black liquid, as well with smooth red one, and tiny ropes are tied around the handles, with small bones and teeth hanging from them.

The dreadful vision makes Dean’s heart miss a beat and suddenly he remembers the small prism around his chest, and his mission and _Cas_. His hand raises to his chest, and he barely breathes, afraid the pendant might have been broken, or worse, lost. But then, his fingers land on a familiar weight on his breastbone, small but oddly soothing. He sighs and gets it out of his t-shirt, playing with it between his fingers, relief flooding inside of him before the voice near him resonates again.

“What is that?”

Dean’s head snaps to the source of it, and his heart stops, then starts beating again, furiously.

 

Castiel is staring at him from across the room, eyes bright despite the frown darkening his brow. He’s leaning against one of the wooden beams holding the tent, his arms crossed on his chest, his wings neatly folded behind his back. Dean’s brain freezes at this detail, and he tilts his head on one side, observing the way the black feathers hang on the ground like a dark waterfall, and how the two curves frame Castiel’s face with the deepest night.

And then he remembers it all, the clouds fading from his skull. He remembers the night before, and the silver blade diving in Cas’ chest, and the blinding light, and the soft wings burned on the ground. He remembers crossing the portal between worlds, and the land of ashes and silence, and the battles cries in the woods, and Castiel’s face a breath away from his.

As Dean keeps staring at him, mouth half open, breathing rapid, Castiel has an impatient step to him. “I asked you a question” he says, his voice sharp like broken glass, “What is that?”

Dean blinks, before he lowers his eyes to the pendant. “You didn’t believe me when I told you” he murmurs, his palm closing tight around the prism. He raises his head back to the angel, who looks at him, expression impenetrable.

“I believed you until I realized you had tricked me” he says, his voice turning bitter and acid, hurt even.

“I didn’t trick you” Dean protests, trying to sit right, but all his body is still numb, soft and heavy like honey.

Castiel makes another step to him. “Then why did you bring your men with you?”

Dean frowns. “I didn’t-” He stops and suddenly thinks of Sam and Mary. They don’t know where he is, and worry and dread must spread through all their bodies. _How long has he even been gone?_ “I came with my brother and Lucifer’s kid, that’s all. They were with me ‘cause we were searching for my mom” he says, and makes a little pause, lungs sore. “And Cas” he adds, turning his eyes away.

“So your intentions were not to kill me?” Castiel asks, now rather intrigued than wrathful.

“I didn’t even know you’d be there” Dean says, wincing when he moves his back, pulsing of pain. “I was looking for you, but not to kill you.”

Castiel walks again to him, his silhouette now weighing down on Dean, who doesn’t even dare to raise his head to cross his stare. But if he did, he would have seen Castiel’s eyes were filled with curiosity, like a thread pulling him to this strange man with bright green eyes and ash in his heart, something deep inside of him drawing him closer and closer.

“My instinct is never wrong” Castiel suddenly says, and he suddenly kneels to be at Dean’s height, “And I knew you meant nothing good at the second I saw you.” He raises a hand and puts it on his chest, right where his heart is. “I felt it right there.”

Dean blinks several times, silent. Then, “Of course” he mutters, closing his eyes, “Of course he had to give you that memory” he adds, nearly laughing at the situation.

Castiel gives him a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”

Dean opens his eyes again and crosses his stare, and his heart beats like a war drum. “It’s his memories” he says, and suddenly a smile spreads on his mouth, out of control.

“I don’t understand” Castiel says, and the same ball of light inside of him shivers and bursts brighter at the sight of the curve on the stranger’s lips.

“Hm” Dean begins, not knowing how to phrase what’s coming. “When we first met, I kind of… stabbed him in the chest” he says, mentally hitting himself for his own stupidity.

Castiel’s eyes open wide of surprise. “ _Stabbed_?” he repeats, having an imperceptible move back.

“No, no it’s because I didn’t know him back then!” he exclaims, trying to reassure Castiel who gives him a doubtful look. He has good reasons to, Dean admits. “I didn’t even know angels existed!”

Castiel gives him a blank look in return. “So you would stab someone only because you don’t know them?”

It leaves Dean speechless for a few seconds. “That’s not what I meant...” he protests, knowing how it must sound now.

Castiel frowns. “And you became…. _friends_ after that?” he asks, skeptical, “Pardon me if I don’t believe you this time, but it seems quite improbable.”

Dean lowers his eyes again, staring at the small prism in his palms. “Believe me, I didn’t think it would happen either.” Glimpses of memories come rushing through his mind, fast, but clear enough for his chest to hurt inside. “I was wrong.”

 

Castiel’s frown grows deeper and he sits entirely, cross legged on the floor, his wings draped on his sides like black, feathered silk. The sight of him like this makes Dean blinks of surprise. He doesn’t look so angelic now, without the bright eyes full of grace and wings wide spread above him, thunder rolling on his tongue. He looks more... human, and closer to the one Dean knows in his world. And that makes him ache deep in his blood.

“We argue sometimes, OK?” he says, before he has a heavy sigh, “But we’re better together, I know that.”

Castiel seems to think for a moment, his mouth folded in concentration. “What do you want from me?” he asks, his eyes turning to Dean, clear and calm.

Dean takes a deep breath. “Cas’ grace is inside of you. If I want to bring him back to our world, you have to let go of it, and give it to me” he says, showing the pendant to Castiel.

This one leans towards him, and his fingers reach out to the prism, brushing lightly against Dean’s, sending shivers in all the hunter’s spine. The angel observes the pendant for a moment, turning it in his hand, observing how the light changes its colors when he moves it. He feels it in his fingertips, the way his grace – or rather a part of it – is drawn to this small piece of diamond, yearning to curl inside of it and sleep until it has crossed the border between worlds.

He then moves back, shaking his head. “Do you realize what you’re asking me?” he says, diving his eyes into Dean’s, “To rip a part of me and trust you with it to cross a world you don’t know, and travel from a dimension to another?” His eyes seem to sadden. “As I said, I don’t know you.”

“I know it sounds selfish” Dean answers, “But-” he begins, before he’s stopped by a heavy lump in his throat. Cas’ absence feels even stronger now that he sees him in flesh and blood, while knowing he’s out of reach. “I need him” he finally says, diving into the angel’s eyes.

This one’s chest has a little breath of surprise, before he observes Dean for a moment, considering this revelation. He once heard stories about the most curious emotion, one that was told to be destructive, yet beautiful beyond imagination. It was told to be red like blood, velvety and soft, violent like the tide, yet as mesmerizing as the ocean itself. It was also told only humans could feel it, for it needed the weakness of an easily broken heart to bloom.

And deep in the stranger’s eyes, he thinks he recognizes it. The desperate pulse of light that he already saw in many other eyes. Sometimes, when they caught a pair of humans, they would see them cling to each other, as if they became one, as if nothing mattered in this world of fire, but each other. And they would see the same light crumble when one was killed before the other. It was as if their whole existence depended on that other being, just like the Earth needs the Sun to be warm and filled with life.

He sees the same storm of sorrow and hope in this man, and he wonders if that could be the same feeling he saw in the couples’ wide pupils. But then he thinks, no human would feel this way towards an angel. It was not possible.

_Or was it?_

 

He shakes his head. All he knows is that the small bit of his grace trapped inside his skull fluttered with emotion when its eyes fell on the stranger. Castiel wonders if the red velvety feeling could affect angels, too.

“Even if I wanted to give it to you,” he says, “I don’t know how.”

Dean frowns as Jack didn’t give him that information. He clenches his jaw. _Each thing in his time_ , such brilliant idea. Too bad the Nephilim is out of reach for now, because he would quite appreciate his knowledge now.

Then he has a thought. “I think you just have to want it” he says, “Nothing else.”

Castiel sighs, his wings dropping on his back to spread on the floor, and he suddenly looks very small, and vulnerable, and quite tormented by emotions. “I know where it is” he says, touching with his grace the ball of light nesting in his skull. This one is awake but for once it’s silent, allowing him to focus. “But I don’t have access to its memories, only some… reactions. You could be lying and I wouldn’t know.” He crosses Dean’s stare, feeling deeply sorry, he realizes. “You know I can’t put my whole species at risk.”

Dean nods, a broken smile on his mouth. “Yeah, I know” he says, and he puts the pendant back under his t-shirt. “And I don’t blame you for that.”

They stay silent for a moment. There’s not much to say, after all: Dean came with a mission, and he now realizes there’s no way he can achieve it, and Castiel feels terribly guilty about it, while knowing his worry doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t know this man after all, so why should he feel bad for him?

(And yet…)

 

Dean clenches his jaw, and suddenly he’s cold and exhausted and realizes he’s _starving_. Now that he thinks of it, he doesn’t know when was the last time he ate something, since there’s no night to tell him another day has passed. And with the worry and grief and fear, his guts were tight and his mind was somewhere else, keeping him away from taking basic care of himself.

His belly growls, and so he wraps his arms around him. It angers him to the blood, to be the puppet of human needs, when it feels like he’s on a biblical ride, driving through a chaotic world.

But his stomach truly hurts and he feels hollow inside. He looks around, but his bag has apparently been taken away, and so he winces and sits more comfortably against a wood beam, fists still clutching his sides.

Castiel gives him a confused look. “Is there something wrong?” he says, and Dean just hates the softness in his voice. It’s not Cas, he shouldn’t act like him, he shouldn’t make the pain even stronger.

“Nothing” Dean mutters, “I’m just hungry. You know, dumb human stuff?”

Castiel frowns and suddenly gets up. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

That’s Dean’s turn to be puzzled. “I’m supposed to be your prisoner, right?”

“Only tyrants would let their prisoners starve” Castiel says, and a small flame of a smile appears on his lips. “I know where your belongings are.”

“Just great” Dean comments “I guess I could ask you to bring it back to me?”

Castiel shakes his head with a laugh. “I’m not letting you off my sight. You are coming with me” he says, and then holds out a hand to Dean.

The hunter scoffs, feeling a spark of joy inside of him for the first time since Cas let the prints of his great wings on the sand. “You should do something about these trust issues” he says, and he grabs Cas’ hand, the angel helping him to stand.

A shiver seems to spread on Cas’ wings, and swirl around Dean’s spine as their palms linger a little too long, before their hands fall back on their sides.

“Perhaps” Castiel says in return. He then tilts his head on the side. “I apologize, but what is your name again? I think you told me, but I was so surprised to see a human there that I forgot...”

Dean laughs. “It’s OK. Guess you don’t really ask their names anyway?” he says, and seeing Cas’ hurt face in front of him, he softens, “Sorry” he says, brushing the dust off his clothes, “My name’s Dean Winchester.”

 

And then it’s like all Castiel’s features shift and turn into an emotion Dean doesn’t understand. There’s shock, and amazement, and confusion, and _pain_. “Dean?” he repeats, making a small step closer.

It’s like the man’s name triggered something in the soft light inside of him. The little ball of wind was attentive but Castiel had pushed it so far into his skull it couldn’t see or hear anymore. It was just there, waiting, helpless. And then the stranger had said his name and suddenly it had burst with violence behind his bones, igniting everything around, and then flowing, flying, singing in a trail of stardust and water, and memories had rushed through him, bright as the sun.

Instinctively, he raises his right hand and slowly, it comes to land on Dean’s shoulder, palm flat against his arm, fingers slightly spread around it, fingertips diving in his flesh, as if he was making sure he had a secure hold on him. As if he was grabbing Dean to pull him out of a dangerous place, a place of flames and screams and rusty chains.

Castiel stares at his hand on Dean’s shoulder, eyes wide open of amazement as the memories keep rushing through him like a river. The light took all control, and it screams in his head, boils in his fingertips, telling him to see, to hear, to _feel_.

Dean stares at him in return, mouth half open. His heart beats terribly fast and he thinks he’s going to collapse under the touch. The soft fire he once felt in his flesh is back, dripping lazily like honey, shaped like a gentle, angelic hand. The mark faded a long time ago, but now he feels it shining inside of him, as if it was not his skin that had been touched, but his soul.

And of course he remembers the person who laid that very hand on him when he was burning in Hell.

“Cas?” he whispers, and when the angel raises his eyes to him, it’s _him_ , for they are gentle and sorrowful and filled with surprise, as if he was seeing Dean for the first time. Cas has a small move forward and his hand moves from Dean’s shoulder to his face, and then he blinks and he’s gone.

Castiel blinks several times and steps back, shaking his head as if trying to brush a feeling away. When he looks back at Dean, it’s not his Cas anymore, but the angel who’s fighting against everything he ever believed.

His face darkens and he lowers his head, doubtful. Could the light be right? Could this man really be who he says he is? Could his intentions really be as pure as bringing his friend back into his arms?

For now, he cannot think, it’s too soon, he’s been thrown out of everything he ever believed, and he cannot make a choice, not _now_. “Come” he says to Dean before he walks to the entrance of the tent and raises the white sheet covering it.

 

The day suddenly breaks in and Dean has to narrow his eyes. The light inside of the tent was rather dim and warm, while the one outside is blinding white, raw and aggressive. He stands where he is, a hand above his eyes to protect them from the impossible sun that is nowhere to be seen.

Castiel has a gentle smile, and inside his head, the little light has a cry of victory. Finally he understands! That there’s nothing to fear or despise in humans, that some of them are good and kind and wonderful, and that the ones from this world are just too abused and broken to be like this any longer.

The light shouts again. Finally Castiel understands! Dean is telling the truth, there’s too much honesty in his bright, glassy eyes, too much pain on his skin, and he’s bare and vulnerable, and far away from home. No, there’s nothing to despise in humans, and especially not in Dean. Not _him_.

“ _Why_?” Castiel asks the light, “ _Why him_?”, to what the light doesn’t know how to answer, full of shame and overflowing with that same red, silky feeling. Then it tells Castiel to make a choice: either he sets it free from its prison of bones, or he persuades Dean to leave without it, and make sure he doesn’t stay any longer in this cursed world. Either way, the light wants Dean safe and warm and _alive_ , that’s all Castiel knows.

Castiel sighs and dares another gentle smile at Dean. “Still hungry?” he asks.

Dean’s eyes open a little wider and he nods vigorously like a little child. He walks to Castiel, before he stops at his height, looking at the world outside with a nervous eye. After all, he’s an enemy for all angels, and they could easily kill him just for the pleasure to see his blood flow.

“Do not worry” Castiel says and he invites Dean into the intense light, one wing unfurling to pass behind his back and shield him from all the other celestial beings.

 

All his feathers and the light’s ones _shiver_ , struck by lightning.

 

**X**

 

There are times where being the center of attention is one of the most pleasing experience one can live. That feeling when you walk into a room and all heads seem to snap to you, with conversations cut mid-way and blushing faces and hungry eyes. Even Dean couldn’t deny that he felt like a comet in the night sky in those moments.

But when hundreds of biblical, winged beings with eyes of steel sharper than their blades stop whatever they’re doing to observe you like a curious little animal, you hold back your pride and wish to be very, very small.

 

Dean swallows hardly and walks by Castiel’s side, trying to be as discreet as possible, lowering his head to stare at the ground. He feels all the angels’ eyes on his back, and it’s far away from the shameful stolen glances he notices when he walks into a bar: it’s hundreds of irises blazing with hatred and disgust and rage. They all stopped talking, and there’s no sound around but the faint wind blowing on the land. Otherwise, it’s all white noise and angelic breaths resonating in Dean’s skull.

Dean thinks about all his arrogance and pride and sarcasm. It’s all gone now, shut down by all these creatures that lived for centuries before him, and will certainly live for centuries after him. He then hears discreet whispers, angels leaning to each other to murmur hushed slurs and mockeries and stories. Some spit at him and he just has the time to step aside to avoid it. Their mouths twist and their brows darken and they clench their fists, slowly driven mad by the idea of crushing a human skull.

Dean takes a short, shaking breath in before he turns to Castiel. This one is walking like a king, chin held high, eyes fixed strong in front of him, wings half spread behind his back, long feathers of darkness floating in the breeze. Every now and then, he turns his head and glowers at an angel who dared to come too close to Dean, and the winged being steps back, immediately bowing his head at Castiel with a frightened look.

Dean observes them, startled. He glances back at Castiel, and he understands that he’s not just a soldier, he’s a _leader_. And Dean just happens to be under his protection, and he realizes that as long as he stays under his wings, he will be safe. He still holds back a smile of victory towards the other angels. One can never be too careful, after all.

 

They finally arrive to another tent akin to Castiel’s, and enter it. Dean is eased by the warmth and low light inside of it, as the brutal, raw sky outside only strengthened his headache. But his senses are back to fully alert when his eyes fall upon another angel.

“Ishim” Castiel greets him with a small beat of his wings.

“Castiel” this one answers with the same gesture before he turns to Dean, looking at him from head to toe with a repulsed look, as if the hunter could rub some kind of disease on him. The disease of humanity, for sure. “What’s _that_ doing here?” he asks and Dean turns to him, ready to snap a hot-blooded answer.

“We’ve just come here to get his belongings back” Castiel answers, giving Dean a warning look.

Ishim seems to think for a moment, his eyes hard like stones on Dean, his wings color of cream and marble slightly beating behind him. He then sighs and turns to pick up a bag from the floor, holding it as if it was contaminated, before he throws him at Dean, who catches it at the very last second. The hunter has a dark look towards the angel, before he walks back near Castiel, holding his bag tight against his chest.

Ishim ignores him and comes to lean back on the table in the middle of the room. “So, what are we gonna do with him?” he asks, showing Dean with a gesture of his chin. His eyes then fill with a dreadful thing, much like sick cruelty. “Are we going to hang him?” His mouth opens in a little “O” of excitement, “Or maybe we’re going to burn him alive like the last one?”

Castiel clenches his jaw, his eyes becoming hard and cold and dark. “We’re not doing anything to him” he says, his voice not leaving a doubt about his words. “And if any of you gets the idea of harming him, you will have to deal with me. Is that clear?”

Ishim’s confidence seems to shatter and he gives Castiel a confused look. “You’re not going to protect that ape, aren’t you?”

Castiel walks to him until he’s just a breath away, and all his silhouette casts shadows down on Ishim, who is much shorter. Castiel lowers his head to dive his eyes into his and his wings half open. “If you a land a hand on him, you will regret it” he says in a whisper that is heavy of thunder and blood.

He then steps back, his eyes still on Ishim, whose wings folded neatly in his back, as he looks at the ground. “I understand” he says, far away from the arrogant little soldier he was a few moments before.

Castiel turns back and walks directly out of the tent, and Dean rushes to follow him, seeing the darkest of looks that Ishim gives him, his fists clenched on his sides, trembling of anger.

 

He walks fast until he’s at Castiel’s height. “What was that?” he asks, breathless.

“What was what?” Castiel answers, coming back to his own tent with wide steps.

“You, defending me” Dean says, frowning of confusion, “Listen, I don’t want to put you in any kind of trouble and-”

“That is my decision, not yours” Castiel snaps, before he softens in front of Dean’s frightened face. The angel has a long sigh. “I’m not letting them hurt you until I decide what to do.”

Dean scoffs, worry growing in his throat. “And then you will let them?” he asks, half serious.

Castiel shakes his head. “No. I will make sure nothing happens to you, or to your brother and mother.”

They enter his tent again, and Dean gives him a confused look. “Why?”

Castiel considers him for a moment, eyes sounding the depths of Dean’s soul. “You did nothing wrong” he begins, before stopping, and then taking a deep breath. “And I feel like I would deeply regret it if you were harmed, in any way.”

Dean opens his mouth, closes it, to open it again without any sound coming out of it. He then sighs, and sits down on one of the chairs around the table, suddenly feeling very exhausted. It’s as if he had spent weeks in this world, without sleeping more than a night. The small rest he got before he went searching into the woods didn’t affect him in any way and now he feels like a hollow shell, a paper thin body for a soul bursting of emotion.

Castiel seems to notice his sudden beaten look. “Dean?” he asks, making the hunter’s head snap to him, the sound of his name in Castiel’s mouth making his heart ache. “Are you alright?”

“Ye-yeah, I’m fine” Dean lies before he tries a smile. “I’m not gonna bother you with all my human whining, am I?”

“It’s not bothering me” Castiel says, frowning, and it hurts, it hurts so bad Dean doesn’t think he’ll be able to bear the sight of him any longer. He’s too much like Cas, and yet entirely different, and too close, and yet so far, both the key to his happiness and the proof he failed his mission.

Dean nibbles a few dry biscuits and fruits without much conviction. He dreams of a full, warm meal with hot meat and fries and cold ice cream melting on apple pie, but his reveries soon become rotten and bitter and full of worms, and all he can think of is the empty chair at the table, burned wings on the wood.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Castiel says after long minutes of silence. He lit a candle on the table, only needing the brush of his fingers on the wick, and the small flame now dances in his eyes that are fixed strong on the melting wax.

“Sure” Dean answers, too tired to be confused or wary.

Castiel takes a small breath in. “Was I happy in your world?” he asks in a very faint voice.

Dean blinks several times and he realizes with horror he has no idea. “I don’t know...” he whispers, his eyes suddenly glazed by tears. He raises them to Castiel. “Cas doesn’t say anything, so I always thought he was alright but now… I realize he probably wasn’t and he never told me, ‘cause I was never there to listen..” he blurts, voice strangled by sobs.

Castiel gives him a frightened look and the tip of his wing reaches out to him, to land very gently on Dean’s forearm. “I didn’t want to upset you, I’m sorry” he whispers, and in this light, Cas’ presence inside of him is uncanny, from the eternal sorrowful eyes to the soft, reassuring features.

Dean suddenly gets up and wipes his tears away in an angry gesture. “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna-” he starts before Castiel’s hands on his shoulders cut him off.

“Rest is what you’re going to do” the angels says, diving his eyes into his. “You can take the bed. I don’t need much sleep anyway.”

Dean blinks, becoming heavy headed of sleep and he lets Castiel sit him on the small bed at the back of the room. He raises his eyes to the angel, blinking the slumber away as much as he can. “Thanks” he murmurs, “But what if your angel buddies try to murder me in my sleep?” he asks, suddenly alert and yet feeling like he’s tipsy, all his emotions wide and strong and overwhelming.

Castiel has a soft, little laugh. “Don’t worry about that” he says, and the last thing Dean hears before falling asleep is these terrible words that rip all his heartstrings, “I’ll watch over you.”

 

**X**

 

He’s awaken by a soft brush on his cheek, and a gentle voice calling his name.

 

He groans at first, too comfortable in the warm land that is sleep, before his name is said again, gently, apologetic and most of all, _familiar_. He emerges from slumber and blinks several times, trying to make the world appear around him.

The room comes into focus, as well with Castiel’s face just a few inches away from his. His heart stops, and all his body wakes, becomes aware of each speck of dust floating between the two of them.

“Dean, I have to go” the angel whispers, his voice soft and careful, his wings like waterfalls of velvet and starry night around him, “I don’t know for how long.”

Dean tries to sit in the small bed, but all his body is sore and still heavy of sleep. “I’ll go with you” he says, rubbing his dry eyes.

Castiel has a small laugh. “No, you’ll stay here. It’s too dangerous outside.”

“Really?” Dean asks, sarcastic despite his eyelids starting to flutter again, “With all the other angels outside? Who says they’re not gonna hang me or burn me alive when you’re gone?”

Castiel shakes his head, and the soft touch is back on Dean’s cheek. His eyes open for less than a second, just to see Cas’ wing folding hastily. “They’re under my command. They know what’s waiting for them if they try to hurt you.”

Dean sighs. “Alright” he mutters, his head falling back on the pillow, before a thought comes to his mind, cruel and frightening. “But what if you die out there?” he asks, his breathing suddenly rapid and painful in his chest. “What about...” He stops, not sure how to say it. He doesn’t want to hurt Castiel, but he has to remember the reason he’s here. “What about Cas?”

Castiel has a small smile. “I will come back” he says, “And I will keep the two of us safe” he adds, glancing at the pendant clenched in Dean’s fist.

The hunter hums an answer and he settles back on the bed, his eyes soon fluttering asleep. Castiel lingers at little longer beside him, and he feels the light inside of him being aware too. He gave it a bit more freedom, and so it can see through his eyes, and observe the move of Dean’s eyelashes on his cheeks at the same time as him.

“ _Why him?_ ” he asks the light again. “ _What’s so special about him_?”, and this time the celestial glow knows the answer. “ _Everything_ ” it calmly says, for it knows a decision is beginning to shape into Castiel’s heart. One that will cause him a lot of pain, but he knows it’s the right thing to do.

 

He may not entirely trust Dean, but the light does, with all its shine, and that’s just enough.

 

**X**

 

Dean dreams about Cas.

 

He is walking near a wide, shiny lake and the sun creates thousands of little diamonds on it. His eyes are filled with light, and a joy he cannot describe is filling his heart. When he turns his head, Cas is here, looking at him with the sweetest smile. Dean’s soul bursts inside of him, trembling of bliss.

He walks to him, and his hands reach out to the angel, and at the second his fingertips touch the tan coat, Cas dissolves into a pale blue cloud, snowflakes floating in the air. Dean looks around, chest torn by grief and suddenly he sees Cas trapped in a bottle, trying to break it with his fists. Small threads of light float around him, flares of icy sun escaping his body and he gives Dean the saddest of looks.

And suddenly he sees Castiel on the battlefield, with his wild hair and wild eyes, and a long black coat flapping around him, as his wide wings rip through the air like sails in the night. And then a demon walks behind him, and suddenly there’s a blade in his body, and the demon wears Lucifer’s face. His wings are covered of fire, and Castiel falls on the ground, feathers carved into the earth. Both his grace and the one trapped inside of him fly away, and no matter how hard Dean tries to catch them, they’re fireflies and they disappear through the open door to another world.

 

He wakes with a jolt, covered in sweat. He needs a moment to calm his distraught heartbeats.

Castiel is not here, he left just like he said.

Dean sighs and passes a hand on his face. He wishes he could talk to Sam or Mary, or even Jack. Just let them know he’s alright, and make sure they’re too. But when he walks to the entrance of the tent and glances outside, the hundreds of angels are still there, some too close to his taste.

He steps back into the warm shadows. Then, it’s like time shifts and snaps, and suddenly he doesn’t know for how long he has been there. He ate a little, and slept a lot. It’s not like he has something better to do, except wait for Castiel’s return and hope he’s going to release him and Cas.

He’s trapped, and he suffocates, but he can’t do anything about it, so he curls up on the cold sheets and falls asleep, spending the whole days – if days even exist in this world, because what’s a day if there’s no night to end it? – in some sort of feverish slumber shaken by nightmares and visions and _screams_.

The rare times he glanced outside, more angels were gathered near the tent and when they hear him, all heads turn to him in the same move, sending a shiver down Dean’s spine. It’s like their eyes are getting darker and darker every time he gets out, just like their smiles become crueler with every _day_ that pass. Dean just sighs and gets back inside, and returns into the arms of Morpheus.

 

He has entered a more peaceful state of sleep, and he’s getting warm and calm again, when hands roughly grab him and throw him out of the bed, his body landing with a thud on the ground.

 

All the air is blown out of his lungs and he rolls on his back, an arm around his chest that burns of pain. Tears of tiredness and shock fill his eyes and he’s about to whisper Castiel’s name – hurt to the core of his being that the angel, even in this world, treated him with such violence – when he sees it’s not Castiel who entered the room.

Two angels he doesn’t know stand there, looking down on him with dreadful grins on their faces. Dean feels his guts becoming tight like a knot and he gets up as fast as he can, regretting his guns and knives and the weight of them in his hands: though they wouldn’t have any efficacy on angels, he wouldn’t feel like a vulnerable child at least.

“What are you doing here?” he says, his eyes travelling from one angel to the other, frowning. “Where’s Cas?”

The slap he gets as an answer nearly knocks him to the ground. It’s a sharp blow with the palm flat against his cheek, and all the angel’s contempt and hatred flows from his hand to Dean’s skull.

Dean looks back at him, his body folded in two as his own fingers raise to his face that burns, as if touched by fire. He’s breathless, the shock too great to even react. “What’s going on?” he asks, fear bubbling wild inside of him.

He gets another blow, but this time in the stomach by a fist with snowy white knuckles, ready to split and let the grace flow. He falls on his knees. “We’re just having some fun while Castiel is gone” one of the angel answers, his wings color of cinnamon shivering of excitement behind him.

Dean tries to protest, but suddenly the two angels grab him under his arms and drag him outside the tent, before they violently shove him on the ground. He doesn’t even have the time to protect his body before the punches and kicks and laughter start to rain down on him.

 

All he knows is the pain, the red, red pain that spreads in his legs, and ribs and face, and he spits thick, velvety blood on the dry land, and his eyes are veiled by tears, and when he manages to push one angel or two aside, more swarm to him like evil creatures, like monsters crawling from the earth. Their feathers are sharp like swords and when they brush against him, it leaves small, bloody lines on his skin.

He tries to get up but one angel pushes him and the back of his head hits the dirt with violence. He blinks, dizzy and aching, and suddenly one angel is sitting on his chest, her dark gray wings spreading wide above them. Her eyes glow like ice pierced by moonlight and she leans to him with a carnivorous smile.

“Aren’t you a poor little thing without your guardian angel?” she says, her teeth like sharp little pearls, as her dark fingers trace patterns on Dean’s chest, nails like claws in his flesh. She tilts her head to give a better look at him, “Tell me, what did you do to our cold, heartless leader to make him so fond of you?”

Dean gives her a confused look. “Listen, I didn’t do anything-” he starts, and his mouth is full of blood. He spits it on the ground, a thick trail flowing from his lips, staining his cheek and hair. “I wasn’t even looking for him!”

“Then what are you looking for?” another angel asks and when Dean raises his eyes he crosses hundreds of luminous dots staring at him with rage and blood thirst.

The black angel leaves his chest, only for another to grab him by the collar and lift him effortlessly, his broad shoulders and tall silhouette making Dean feel very small. The angel’s pale brown wings are spread behind him, and the sky is so dark, the clouds are growling, and the air smells like storms.

“What are you doing here, if it’s not for destroying us all?” he asks, his voice acid and low and threatening.

Dean dives his eyes into his, and despite the fear and despair in his bones, he’s still a hunter and the thought of Sam, Mary and Jack waiting for him gives him the strength to survive them all. The thought of having a chance to get Cas back gives him the strength to fight this entire world.

“I came here in your goddamn world so I could bring my friend back in mine” he says, spitting at his face, “And yeah, that’s right, he’s an angel, and his grace is freaking _trapped_ inside your leader, and I’m not leaving until I have him back!” he adds, and thunder rolls on his tongue, and he never felt more powerful.

 

The angel considers him for a moment, visibly puzzled by this sudden bite of the poor little animal he’s holding, and Dean takes advantage of this confusion to kick him in the stomach and as the angel releases him, he steps back and comes to stand in the middle of the ring the celestial beings created.

The angel with brown wings raises his head to look at him and suddenly his mouth is distorted into a silent growl, and he runs to him. Dean avoids blow after blow, but he feels his energy flying away, while the angels don’t seem to get tired and suddenly he’s swallowed back by them, a tide of wings and revengeful grins eating him whole like sweet candy.

“Angels and humans don’t befriend! He’s lying!”

“Humans lie, that’s the only thing they know how to do!”

“Besides, who would want to be friend with such vile creature?”

“Or maybe he cast a spell on Castiel! Maybe he’s one of those monsters we’ve heard about, ones capable of tricking you and making you their puppet!”

 

There’s a general gasp and murmurs move like waves, while Dean is slowly losing consciousness. All he can see now is glimpses of feathers and arms and legs, all moving with one purpose: breaking him to the very last bone. He can’t feel his body anymore, the pain numbed him entirely and all he can feel now is that wide, fizzing warmth inside of him, as if he was now filling with static, flowing through his veins like blood.

“I say we hang him!”

“No, this one is more of the burning kind!”

“Yeah, looks like he’s been through Hell!”

Laughter fills Dean’s ears, strident and holy like cries in the night, and suddenly they grab him, and though he’s barely conscious, he can see the angels arriving with blazing torches, the flames rising to the sky like solar flares. The fire illuminates their celestial features in horrific masks and they walk to him, slowly like panthers to their prey, wide smiles on their faces, wings spread wide on their sides, the sky finally dark as night around them.

Dean’s breath gets stuck in his lungs and through the tears and blood and pain he can see the flames getting closer and closer and he thinks, _God, that’s it, I’m gonna die_. And it’s just a thought like another, but it’s terrifying, for he is not ready – and will he ever be? – and he has failed his mission. Sam, Mary and Jack doesn’t know where he is, and with his teeth clenched, he knows they won’t stop looking for him, they won’t leave without him until they’re entirely sure he’s no longer alive.

He imagines the fire licking his skin, the agony twisting his guts as it dives under the flesh and attacks the bones and muscles, grabs his heart with a steel hand and crushes it. And he knows it’s going to be very long and very painful for death by fire was never a choice of mercy.

 

As he hears the angels roaring around him and sees the torches approach, his hand reaches to the pendant on his chest. It’s still mysteriously intact and he starts to think this kind of glass has been made in Heaven. Otherwise, he doesn’t know how something as small and fragile as the little prism could have survived through it all.

He clenches it in his palm covered of sweat and blood and he represses a cry of despair. Not only will he die in a world that’s not his, but he was also unable to bring Cas back to where he belonged. He was too weak, too stupidly fierce and Cas will be caged forever, because of him.

The angels grab him under his arms, and he doesn’t let go of the prism, and he holds it tight against him, and how he wishes he could have seen Cas just one last time, just one second before releasing his last breath.

 

He can already feel the heat of the fire on his face when the sky suddenly breaks and shatters and lightning strikes near them, creating a wave of surprised sounds from the celestial beings. The wind starts to blow furiously, the black clouds moving and moving in the sky, and the air seems to whistle and spit and _scream_.

There’s another bolt of lightning and the angels have a move back, all stirring like one, making Dean frown and he raises his eyes to the source of their dread, so acrid he can smell it in the air, the stench of fear and grace swirling around him.

One of his eyelids is so swollen he barely sees through it, but the other eye sees it all, and everything in pure, raw glory.

 

There, standing among the lightning and storm and wind, Castiel is staring at them. His dark hair moves in the hurricane, strands of it falling on his forehead. He is wearing a long black coat, floating like a war flag around his silhouette as he starts walking to the group of angels.

His eyes are like two holy ponds, scorching of white fire, and his jaw is clenched and he holds two blades of gold and diamond, and his wings are wide open, black and majestic and mesmerizing.

“Step back!” he orders the angels, his voice breaking on them like violent waves on the shore.

His soldiers give him a half confused, half terrified look, but they don’t move. They seem to be frozen where they stand, and their wings are folded close to their bodies and their hearts thunder behind their ivory ribs. They see Castiel and they see the lightning glowing in his veins, the demon blood splattered on his face and shirt, and they see his eyes diving into theirs, staring at them all at once, and suddenly he seems so great they think he’s going to crush them all in one step.

“I SAID, STEP BACK!” he shouts, and a shock wave crashes on the army, red lightning striking a feet or two away from them, and they _know_ it’s not the doing of the weather. Rain starts to fall, brutal and hot. Castiel lowers his head and his voice seems to come from the earth, the air and the sky. “Step back from him, or I promise your heads will roll to the edge of this world!” he says, and this last threat, surrounded by trees falling down and ground splitting under their feet, seems to wake them from their slumber-like state.

They move back like the tide and leave Dean alone, and he falls on his knees, and despite the pain, he gives Castiel a look of awe mixed with terror. Angels are definitely the Universe’s most curious and breathtaking creation.

 

Castiel arrives near him and all the angels stumble back, some even walk away, pretending to be focused on one task or another. Castiel ignores them and kneels next to Dean, giving him a look full of worry.

“Dean? Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes moving rapidly on all the hunter’s features.

Dean manages to laugh, even if it costs him the greatest pain. “What do you think?” he gently says as he looks at Castiel, and he’s so glad to see him, and he just wants to fall and die against his chest.

The angel’s eyes darken. “I promise you they’ll be punished for what they did.”

Dean gives him a tired smile. “T’s OK. We’re supposed to be enemies” he says as he keeps staring at Castiel while he checks on his wounds, and God, what he would give to have _Cas_ back and hold him tight and bathe his heart and skin in the warmth of him. “I don’t blame them” he adds, suddenly exhausted.

“I do” Castiel answers and his fingertips land on Dean’s forehead, very gently, and suddenly the sensation you get when you’re carried away by a strong ocean wave breaks over him. It feels like being cleansed, like being pure again and it feels like it’s not only his body that has been healed, but his mind too.

He takes a deep breath and gives Castiel a smile. “Thanks” he murmurs, feeling better now that he’s no longer all blood and dust and ache.

“It’s nothing” the angel answers as he helps him getting up. “Now, follow me” he says as he turns back, his wings spread electric behind him, and Dean’s eyes linger on them, trying to carve the memory inside his bones.

“Where are we going?” he asks, catching up with Castiel who is walking to his tent with rapid, wide steps.

“It’s time for you to leave this world” he says and Dean turns to him, breathless.

“What?” he murmurs, his heart stopping in his chest.

 

Castiel is the first to enter the tent and he stops in the middle of the room, back facing Dean, his wings great and shiny and beautiful. “I realized that no matter how painful splitting my grace was going to be, it was a great nothing compared to what you’re feeling inside” he says in a breath before he turns back.

Dean blinks several times, and he can’t believe what Castiel is saying, he’s completely drowned in thousands of emotions. “So that means….?”

Castiel gives him a gentle, sad side and in a few steps he’s facing him, a breath away. He raises his right hand and approaches it from Dean’s chest. His gesture freezes in the air and he gives Dean a questioning look, as if asking for permission. Dean doesn’t know how to speak anymore, so he just nods slightly, and his eyes can’t leave Castiel’s face.

The angel closes his own, and his palm lands on Dean’s chest, just where the prism is. He takes a deep breath and suddenly there’s a blow of light that floods the entire room.

 

It’s cold and damp and luminous, and Dean sees Castiel wincing of pain. The blood in his veins starts to glow, and the hand that is resting near Dean’s heart is bright of that peculiar shade of white-blue that is like the waters in the countries covered by snow.

His fingers shake and his eyes are shut tight, and his wings shiver, but Castiel holds on and like snakes of light, that small, stranger piece of grace fades from his being to dive into the prism. It’s small flares snapping around his veins, and though it wants to escape, his own grace holds it back, ties it around his skull with despair. But Castiel pushes it all to the diamond around Dean’s neck, and finally, sets it _free_.

His head becomes lighter, and some memories, some that were more ancient, or less powerful, just _disappear_. They create holes in his mind, but Castiel fills them with the ones he made these past days. Not everything is lost, and he holds on that small amount of time to heal the bleeding blue hounds inside of him. The red, velvety feeling leaves too, and with a wistful sigh, the small light is gone.

Castiel gasps, and steps back, dizzy. His whole body is sore, and it feels like there’s a gap in his being, right in the middle of his chest. Something is missing, something has been ripped from him. And then he realizes, he always felt that way: something was _always_ missing. And when he raises his eyes back to Dean, he’s not sure it was another piece of his grace.

 

The hunter is breathless, still surrounded by that wave of power and he lowers his head. He has a little surprised sound when he sees the prism glowing underneath the fabric of his shirt. He grabs the little cord and pulls the pendant out.

There, nesting among the glass, there are several threads of dear white-blue light, tied together, moving softly between the clear walls, illuminating Dean’s hands with its shine.

Dean’s eyes open wide, his heart drops in his chest. “Is that….?”

Despite the sweat on his brow and the way his breaths are still rapid and heavy, Castiel smiles again. “Yes. It’s him.” he answers, and he has a little laugh at Dean’s awed expression.

“Oh my-” he begins, observing the light inside the prism – and knowing it’s Cas, that this little handful of glowing water is _him_ – before a loud sound outside cuts him off.

 

They both turn to the entrance of the tent, startled. Outside, screams begin to rise in the air, followed by evil growls and laughter, and then celestial battle cries. Orange flames are dancing behind the pale fabric of Castiel’s home and he can already smell the ash and Death swirling outside.

Castiel’s features tense and his wings open behind him. “The demons” he says, grabbing his blades from their sheaths, before turning to Dean, “They finally decided to attack us on our ground.” He then seems to think, before he takes one of the golden knives on his table and puts it in Dean’s hands. “Here. Now go!”

The hunter gives him a desperate look. “But what about you?” he asks, putting the blade down and putting his jacket on, before grabbing the weapon again.

Castiel has a sorrowful smile. “It’s my world” he says, “I have to save it.” Seeing Dean keeps staring at him, he makes a few wide steps and takes all the air from Dean’s lungs when he leans his forehead against his. His skin is cool but his breaths are warm, and his wings are shivering behind him as he whispers “You told me you didn’t know if you could live without _him_ , is that right?”

Dean shivers, his heart beating furiously. “Yes” he answers, closing his eyes.

“I know he felt the same. I know his world would feel incomplete without you” Castiel says in a strangled voice, before he steps back, still staring at Dean. “You must go back to your home and bring him with you. A world where you’re not two as one isn’t a world at all.” He turns back and starts lifting the white fabric of the entrance, before he looks at Dean for one last time, “And Dean?”

“Yeah?” the hunter blurts, clutching the prism hard in his hand, trembling of God knows what emotions are tormenting him now.

The angel smiles. “Just live” he says, before he turns back and jump into the battle, all black wings and glowing eyes and golden blades.

 

Dean doesn’t think twice. He grabs his few belongings and runs outside among the flames and warriors, and dives into the woods.

 


	4. Drenched With Despair

Deans leans towards the small river, his throat dry and sore. He cups his hands in the clear water, and in this moment he doesn’t even think about how reckless drinking it might be, considering the apocalyptic world that holds this tiny stream. He just thinks of the sweat on his brow and back and chest.

When the fresh water touches his chapped lips, he has a small sigh of pleasure. He sits on the muddy banks, his breathing heavy and rapid, his heart knocking hard on his ribs. His vision is blurry, his hands shaking and he looks around, nervous and tired and afraid.

 

It’s been so long since he last felt fear that he nearly forgot the bitter taste of it. Of course, he’s sometimes scared that he’ll lose his family, or that he won’t be able to save more people from the monsters he hunts, but it’s never the pure, red terror supernatural beings can incarnate. Apart from the glowing eyes or shadow wings or eventual claws or fangs, monsters in his world look uncanny human.

But in this universe, they’re truly _terrifying_. Dean thought he had seen it all, but he was clearly wrong, and the beasts from this world are like a procession of terrors. First, the angels, these cold beings of steel and silver, only moved by their thirst for blood and revenge, even less likeable than the ones he knows. Then, the rare monsters he met while running from the angelic camp, with the werewolves more animal than man or the vampires with sharp teeth and bloody eyes or the ghosts rotten and screaming and just dreadful.

And finally, there are the demons. The last in the march, like the great attraction everybody came for, the last thrill of the night. Dean thinks he’s never going to forget them, even if he wanted it with all his heart. It’s as if they could freeze your entire soul with just one look of their bottomless, cruel black eyes. You see their yellow teeth and dripping claws and sharp horns, and your mind is immediately filled with thousands of pictures of them eating your entrails and licking your bones while you’re still alive.

Dean already saw several of them while running from the burning tents, and each time, he made his body small and he moved as fast as he could among the trees, ripping through the air like an arrow. He was forced to stop at some point, his breathing so loud that he felt like he may pass out, and he hid behind a large trunk, fear thrumming in his ears. He took a gun out of his bag and passed it in his belt, before he grabbed his demon-killing knife, hoping he won’t have to get close enough to use it.

He considered the angel blade too, at the bottom of the bag. He liked the sensation of it in his hands, smooth and precise and _lethal_. But when his fingers started to reach out to it, terrible visions of the same weapon piercing through Cas’ flesh filled his mind and his stomach had a little wave of nausea and he moved his hand back, like electrified.

He sighed and pulled the pendant out of his t-shirt. He remembered Jack’s words, telling him he’d have to keep the grace warm, and so he thought keeping Cas close to his bare skin would probably be for the best. He observed it – _him_ – curling and snapping in the little glass bottle, and he thought his awe was never going to end. He just couldn’t believe Cas, so warm and painfully _human_ Cas, was also that small thread of cold, singing water. He then hastily put the prism back when he saw his hands were staining it of blood and dust and sweat.

 

Now he just listens to the current. He checked his surroundings several times, making sure no beast was hiding in the dark of the trees, but now he’s just tired and he wants to curl up on the mud and sleep. God, how he dreams of a hot, purifying shower and a whole meal and his bed and room and home. He just feels like dirt has crawled under his skin to rest on his soul and he just can’t take anymore of this gray land and all its creations.

He looks at his hands and sees they’re now clean, just dripping of fresh river water. He would have dried them on his clothes, but they’re as dirty as his heart in this moment, so he just shakes them a little, projecting small drops around. He takes the small prism again, and holds it in his palms. He feels the grace’s warmth when it touches the glass walls and it soothes him, a little.

He sighs deeply. “I’m gonna get you home, Cas” he says, suddenly moved by a wild storm of despair, “I promise you I will.”

As an answer, Cas’ grace suddenly glows brighter, turning into some kind of divine lantern in Dean’s hands. A small thread escapes the dense piece of light and it gently flows to the wall and Dean can see it’s pressed against the glass like a small fingertip. He has a small laugh, and it hurts deep in his chest, and he wishes he could just close his eyes and suddenly he’d be home and Cas would be flesh and bone, and not a star trapped in a bottle of gold and diamond.

Dean has a last smile and he raises the prism to his chest, holding it as tight as possible against his heart, hoping the furnace inside of it might give Cas all the warmth he needs to survive this world and the other. He closes his eyes just for a few seconds, enjoying the tide he feels moving very lightly against him, powerful despite the cage separating them.

 

He is putting the prism into safety when something rustles in the bushes near him. He immediately gets up, knife in hand and he looks around, his eyes dark like the night. The noise doesn’t resonate again and he makes a step into the woods, and the only thing he hears is the water singing behind him.

He clenches his jaw and starts walking into the forest, his heart beating fast behind his ribs at the simple thought of what might be lurking in the darkness. He may be a hunter, and he may be armed, but still a man, and he doesn’t think he can do much in front of a whole flock of black eyed, fury-fueled demons.

Something dark suddenly moves in the corner of his eye and he turns back, holding his breath. He then clenches his jaw when he realizes he has dived much deeper into the woods and that the river is now out of his sight. Something is playing with him, something is luring him into the thickest, darkest part of the forest.

He clenches his fists, burning inside, suddenly driven by some kind of devastating fever. If they want to play, then he will play, and he will _win_.

He enters the copse and it’s swarming of shadows, worms nesting in rotten flesh, moths fluttering around him, the touch of their velvety wings making him shudder of disgust. There are bones on the ground, and remains of abandoned meals, long threads of bloody skin scattered on the burnt ferns. The stench of death and decaying bodies is unbearable and Dean buries his face in the folds of his sleeve, the smell so strong it burns his eyes, makes his stomach turn upside down. He feels Cas’ grace beating stronger against his chest, following the pace of his own heart.

 

Seeing nothing comes out of the shadow, Dean turns back, decided to find his brother and mother, and leave this hell of a world for good. He barely has the time to raise his knife when a demon emerges out of the bushes and jumps on him, pushing him to the ground with such violence it makes Dean’s mind go blank for a few seconds.

He stands up as fast as possible and stares at the demon, breathless under the shock. The creature dives his eyes filled with black, so black ink into his and a shiver runs down Dean’s spine. The demon has sharp teeth and long, curled horns like the devils in so many horror books. The vision is entirely meant to make your soul crawl into the depths of your body and burst of terror if the creature ever dares to move.

Then, the demon has a wide grin, a dreadful thing that is no joy but pure, bottomless cruelty, and suddenly he raises his head to the skies and a loud, guttural sound escapes his throat, something akin to the cry of an evil instrument, resonating like thousands of beasts howling together.

To Dean’s greatest horror, new screams answer the demon, filling all the woods around, and if there were birds in the trees, they would have flown away in a wide storm of terrified wings. One by one, demons emerge from the shadows, and one by one they come to surround Dean, who has no choice but to get closer to the center of the clearing, his knife held strong in his palm, his eyes jumping from one silhouette to another, trying to focus on every glimpse and every sound, preparing himself for the attack he knows to be close.

“You must be really brave to come here” the first demon comments, his smile spread on his yellow teeth, “Or really stupid” he adds, and Dean notices the black blade in his hand, long and sharp and made to _kill_.

“What do you want?” he asks, his eyes dark, his jaw clenched as he tries to maintain the other demons in his field of vision, while he keeps staring at their leader.

This one clicks his tongue. “Ah, see, I’m the one asking the questions here.” He tilts his head and his eyes flow on Dean, swallowing him whole in one black mouthful. “What is a little human doing here, all alone?”

Dean glowers at him. “Something called none of your business.”

The demon gives him an amused smile, if a wound of broken teeth and blood can be called a smile. “So you’re the stupid kind” he says, making Dean’s jaw twitch of annoyance. Then the demon’s eyes seem to open a little wider and he takes a deep, intrigued breath. “You’ve got a strange smell” he says, as if commenting on a piece of meat.

“I’m gonna take this as a compliment” Dean answers, and he focuses on the ring of demons getting closer each second, and he knows the leader is distracting him, drawing all his attention towards him so he’ll be just a little bug to crush under their feet.

The creature snickers again, covering him with such sickly curious, hungry eyes that Dean keeps himself from stepping back. “Yes, you’re strange” the demon says, suddenly moving towards him, “You carry the stench of angels with you.”

Dean keeps a shiver from running on all his limbs. “Do I?” he asks, sharp and sarcastic, but the fear rises, bubbling and hot inside of him.

The demon makes another step to him and all amusement or curiosity fades from his evil features to turn into something way more threatening. He clenches his teeth. “No one escapes when they’re caught by them. You standing in front of me can only mean one thing: you’re one of their toys, one of their little pets that dance and suffer when they need distraction.”

“No I’m not” Dean answers, very calmly, confused inside for he didn’t see any other human when he was in the angel camp. Could there really be prisoners held in cages like attractions in a freak show?

The demon stares at him, unblinking and the rage seems to rise inside his terrible eyes. “Do you know what I hate most about humans?” he asks, and he gets even closer, not caring one second about the blade raised towards him, “Their lies.”

 

And suddenly Dean is pushed forward, one demon gripped to his back, throwing him to the ground. Like an oily sea full of sharks and monsters, the ring closes around him and they all jump on him, all teeth and claws, all trying to grab a bite of that feast that is still pumping loud and bright blood.

Dean thinks the Universe closed his eyes on him, turned away and let Fate torture him instead. He just escaped a flood of angelic cries and silver blades and glowing eyes, only to be swallowed by another furnace, black and spitting and wrathful. He can already feel their sharp nails scratching his skin through his clothes, and they kick him in the stomach and the head, making him roll and crawl in the soft earth of the forest.

He is trying to reach for his knife that fell just a few feet away from him but a demon pins him down to the ground, her foot pressing hard on his backbone. He winces and tries to grab the dusty weapon but another demon pushes the one on his back and makes Dean turn so he can see him, all his evil shadow weighing down on him.

Dean’s about to push him with all his strength when the demon’s eyes open wide like full moons, curious and amazed and hungry. In them, a bright white-blue light is shining and when Dean lowers his head, he sees the prism has escaped the safety of his clothes to hang on his chest, in plain sight. His heart starts racing and suddenly the demon has a little, excited cry and all the others gather around him, and their faces shift into the same thrilled expression.

The leader approaches and his eyes widen the same way, as a dark, stormy smile spreads on his lip. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” he says and suddenly he is sitting on Dean’s chest, his body burning and heavy on Dean’s stomach, as the hunter gives him a stunned look, despite his rising fear. Before he can even react, two other demons are pinning his arms down to the ground so he is totally unable to move and the leader’s fingers start to approach the prism where Cas’ grace flutters nervously.

Dean suddenly realizes what’s happening. “No!” he shouts, moving like a madman under the demon, trying to push him aside, trying to protect the vial at any cost because he can only imagine what the creature could do. He can only imagine the demon’s hands ripping the cord from his neck to observe it like strange candy, his eyes full of hot insanity before he suddenly crushes it in his claws, or worse, opens it and grabs the thread of light and plays with it like a cat plays with the bird he just killed, still warm and aching.

And the worst of it all would be if they let him live afterward. He doesn’t even want to imagine the wreck of a man he will be if he has to come back into his world without Cas, knowing he had survived an army of furious angels and the too familiar stare of a stranger, only to lose him because of his stubborn and stupid weakness.

 

He keeps twisting and moving but the demon is too strong, his hands covered in dirt and blood are already close to the diamond and he looks at it like a wolf looks at a lamb, both in admiration and envy, and Dean thinks he’s twisted enough to eat the grace up, even if that would make him burst like a firework, only to have the postmortem satisfaction of swallowing his worst enemy.

His fingers surround the little bottle and he turns it around in his hands. “They pretend to be God’s most terrifying creation” he says, “but in the end they’re just tiny, shiny specks of dust I can crush in the palm of my hand.” Cas’ grace seems to glow a little bit brighter, as if fueled by anger. The demon looks back at Dean, a dreadful smile on his black lips. “I’m gonna take you precious little light and I’m gonna make it suffer so strong you will hear it scream from the end of this Universe.”

Dean feels his stomach have a nauseous twitch. “Stop” he says. Cold settles in his belly, and he’s just terrified that the creature’s hand will just smother Cas’ grace until it gives a last wistful sigh.

The demon has a cruel laugh. “Oh don’t worry! I will take care of your angel love, and then I will make you twist in pain until you beg me to stop.” He has a carnivorous smile, his mouth wide and his lips swollen as he bit them hard to keep himself from devouring Dean already, “I wonder if you taste like grace, too” he adds, his tongue passing on his yellow teeth like a wolf.

Dean’s eyes open wide of terror and his twisted mind already makes him feel the fangs diving in his neck, the claws ripping his chest open, digging into his belly to take all his guts out, let them breathe into the acrid air. He clenches his jaw, and there it is, the pure, raw fear monsters are supposed to inject directly into your veins.

There’s a burst of cruel laughter around him. “Or maybe I will just start with you, so you’ll never know what happened to the precious light hangin’ around your neck” the demon says, throwing his blade away before he swoops down on Dean like a vulture. He rips a scream out of Dean, a sudden cry of agony coming right out of his lungs when the beast dives his teeth into his throat and the blood spurts wild out of the wound.

 

Then, time slows and it’s like a wave of snow and diamond unravels inside of Dean, as if something was whispering right into his mind and suddenly, he _knows_ he has to shut his eyes tight if he wants to keep them. He clenches his jaw, ignoring the pain in his neck and the demon laughing above him, and the second after bright, white-blue light floods the clearing, washing all the evil beings away.

As pure and innocent as it looks, it’s ruthless and cruel when it crashes over the demons, projecting itself out of the crystal walls of its prison. The grace raises like a stormy sea and it swallows the creatures with holy roars, high-pitched choirs making their ears bleed. Their carcasses hit the ground, entirely burnt as if blown away by a devilish fire, and in a few breaths, the only proof the demons were once here is the smoking, putrid vessels they possessed, as their black souls have been blown out of existence.

 

The light slowly retires into its shelter, gentle like the night fading away in the morning and it turns to look at Dean, whose eyes flutter open.

His breath gets stuck in his lungs when he sees the devils’ corpses scattered on the ground. It was just the matter of a few seconds, barely long enough to hear a few cries of fear and agony. He slowly sits, and a sting in his neck reminds him of the severe wound the demon dug in his flesh. He winces and he lands careful fingers on it. When he looks at them, they’re covered in blood, and he feels more of it flowing under the collar of his shirt. His vision becomes blurry and he already feels kind of dizzy, but he bites his tongue and stands up.

He then takes his shirt out of the bag where he folded it, and presses it against his neck, taking several deep breaths to chase the nausea away. He lowers his head to look at the pendant, that is once again intact, and his heart misses a beat when he sees Cas’ grace shaped into one unique thread pointed at him. It doesn’t shine as bright as before, as the attack on the demons left it empty of all strength and it now needs to curl back against Dean’s chest.

But when it sees the blood flowing thick and red, staining all his skin, it has a jolt and it spreads once again outside the glass, before it rapidly flies to Dean’s forehead and leaves a gentle touch on it. The fresh sensation floods Dean again and he has a little sigh of relief. Cas nestles back into the small pendant, exhausted, and if the healing didn’t stop the pain, it stopped the bleeding and that’s just good enough for now.

Dean then realizes he’s only alive because of that tiny handful of light, otherwise the demons would have ate him bite by bite, without any remorse of leaving his decaying body behind.

 

He has a tired, but warm smile and cups the pendant in his hands, looking at the small cloud of blue light spread against the walls to be close to his skin. “Thanks, Cas” he says, and his throat is suddenly tight, his heart heavy.

The only thing that pushes him to leave the clearing and keep moving, is the small brighter blow Cas’ grace has, just like a little, tired answer and when Dean puts the pendant back under his t-shirt, he feels the grace sighs of ease as it settles back against his chest.

“I’m not gonna lose you again” Dean whispers, grabbing his knife again and rejoining the little dusty path near the forest.

“ _I’m not going to lose you either_ ” the grace answers from the bottom of its little cage. It’s able to think again, to think with real words and emotions, for Dean is close to it, and the only thing that makes it more human and less raindrop is the bond it shares with that stubborn and bruised little soul.

 

Dean started walking and he doesn’t know if it’s been minutes, or hours, or days. With that awful, always shining sun he’s not sure if this day is another given to him, or if times just flows so slow he might just have entered the portal a second ago.

He just doesn’t care, he just wants all this improbable journey to be over, he wants to be home and go back to his normal days, if hunting monsters and living in a bunker can be called normal. He just wants to have his family back, and all of it. His brother, his mother and his angel. Hell, if Lucifer’s kid has to join the band, so be it. All he wants is to leave before he has to spend another “night” under these unchanging skies.

But first, he has to find Sam, Mary and Jack again. And that may be his biggest problem at the moment. This world seems to be made of miles and miles of forest unraveling endlessly and there’s no distinct sign of a path he might have already walked on. He knows it’s silly, but he trusts his instinct and his brother’s to find each other, their minds to fly before them and collide despite the trees and land separating them.

Despite the tiredness and exasperation lying in his bones, Dean thinks a lot about what’s going to happen when he’ll be out of this dimension. Like a daydreamer, he sees himself running to Cas’ room and making him drink the grace and then bright blue eyes will flutter open, confused but _alive_.

Heat rises to his face, and he curses himself to be so overwhelmed by emotion when he’s in the middle of a devastated world full of danger. And with Cas’ grace right against him, he has the sensation he just might be listening to his thoughts or heartbeats, which both follow the same distraught pace.

He sees himself next to Cas when he’ll wake, and of course the first thing he’ll do is wrap his arms around the angel’s shoulders, remembering what it’s like to hold him close and to feel his warmth and breaths against him, but then another vision overlays with this one, and all he can think about is grabbing his stupid face and kiss his equally stupid mouth.

Not that he never thought about it before, but now he just feels like he _needs_ to. Besides, he fought demons and angels, met God and his sister and survived a whole organization trying to eradicate all American hunters, so he thinks he can admit his feelings out loud and maybe kiss Cas because he’ll just be so damn glad he’s back and no longer the leader of an army of merciless beings or a tiny handful of light in his palm.

And then he thinks the feeling probably doesn’t flow both ways. Why would an angel, a being that saw the birth of this world and will probably see the downfall of it, feel this way towards him? After all, Cas is no human, and he realizes that even if he was, he would have probably loved someone better than him.

 

As he keeps walking among the trees, he wonders.

 

He’s not sure if he ever loved someone, and not in the way he loves his family, but in the way where a stranger crosses his way and as time passes he realizes there’s something _more_ blooming in his heart. Dean’s not sure if he ever cared about someone in a way that’s so devastating his soul felt like crumbling each time they brushed against him.

When he thinks about love, it all sounds like blue eyes and confused frown and wings and small grace nestled against his heart and the flutter of this one every time Cas comes close, and how the words get stuck in his throat and how he looks at the angel and sees something he desperately needs like the blood in his veins, and yet can’t have.

He sighs deeply. Yes, breaking the wall between them would be nice, and take Cas’ face between his hands and feel the small curls of his hair and the taste of his mouth would probably be more than that, but the deeply rooted fear that he’ll ruin everything is still here. He’d rather keep dreaming about his mornings full of coffee and Cas’ warmth than dare to make a move, be wrong, and shatter everything he’s got.

 

All lost in his thoughts that he is, he didn’t hear the rustle of the leaves near him, and suddenly there’s a tall silhouette in front of him, gun already pointed at his chest.

Dean’s muscles are immediately tense and he raises his knife, before a familiar voice resonates in his ears.

“Dean?”

Dean blinks and suddenly the heavy fog that fell on his mind and eyes is raised, and his heart misses a beat.

“Sam?”

**X**

 

His brother takes him in a bone-crushing embrace, his arms wrapped tight like a knot around Dean’s shoulders, and he hears Sam have a short, strangled sigh of relief. He has a small laugh and is about to make a mocking comment, but there’s something so desperate and so fragile in Sam’s hold that he swallows his usual sarcasm back and returns the gesture, gently patting his brother on the back.

Sam steps back and Dean is stunned by the dark circles under his eyes, the fear mixed with exhaustion in them, the way he seems so alert and nervous, his body slightly shivering as he stares at Dean, incredulous.

“Dean, where have you been?” he asks, shaking his head of disbelief, “We waited for you, and then we came to search you but you just _vanished_!”

Dean passes a hand on his face, the pressure suddenly taken off his shoulders and he’s suddenly, terribly tired. “You’re not gonna believe me” he says, now realizing the strangeness of his disappearance.

“Maybe” Sam answers and his eyes darken, “But you’ve got to tell me. We thought something happened to you… we thought you were dead!”

Dean feels a pang of grief in his heart. “I’m sorry, I swear. I didn’t plan any of it” he says, and he can feel all that his brother and mother felt when they waited and waited, and he was not coming back, and they searched the woods, shouting his name, and he was just gone God knows where in a land of despair and danger.

“So what happened?” Sam asks, before his eyes open a little wider, “Did you see Cas?”

“Kinda” Dean answers, having a long sigh. “I met him, but the one from this world.”

“And?” Sam says, raising an eyebrow, visibly annoyed that he has to rip the words out of his brother’s mouth. There’s a dazed expression in Dean’s eyes that he just can’t explain. “How did it go?”

“Well, I thought he was gonna kill me, then I didn’t, and then I said I came with my brother and my mom, he thought I tricked him and wanted to kill him, so he knocked me out.”

Surprise spreads all over Sam’s features. “So that’s why you disappeared?” He frowns, “But where did he take you after that?”

“Wait for it” Dean says and he has a smirk, realizing not many hunters, if not none, will be able to tell a story like his, “He took me to the angels’ camp” he says with his green eyes sparkling.

Sam seems about to burst of awe. “So you saw them, the angels?” he asks, and Dean doesn’t see his tall, trained warrior of a brother anymore, but the small child he once had to take care of.

“Yeah, and let me tell you, they’re dicks. And not the wearing-suits-and-following-rules kind of dicks, but real violent, crazy _dicks_.”

“I think I understood” Sam says, exasperated, before a spark shines in his eyes, “How did he look? Cas?” he asks, and his heart feels tight when he thinks of the angel’s body lying in the sand under the dark night skies.

“He looked like Cas, but not entirely” Dean says as he starts playing with a heap of dirt at his feet, eyes lost into space, “He was like Cas, but _colder_ you know? Just looking like him, but strange.” He shakes his head. “It just wasn’t him.”

Sam frowns, wheels turning in his head. “What happened between the two of you?” he asks, unsettled by Dean’s behavior, as if his memories threw him back into both grief and awe.

Dean blinks several times before he raises his eyes to his brother, confused. “What?”

Sam shrugs. “I mean, Bobby said angels weren’t very friendly in this world, but Cas let you go without even knowing you?” He holds back a knowing smile, “What did you do?”

“Nothing” Dean answers, the question making heat rise to his face. Then, a glimpse of the “days” he spent with Castiel flashes back in his head and he remembers his mission, the tiny handful of light he came for. His breath gets stuck in his lungs and he suddenly pulls the pendant out of his t-shirt, taking it carefully between his fingers to show it to Sam.

This one gives it a blank look. “What’s that?” he asks, and he frowns even deeper at Dean’s wide glassy eyes, the blissful smile spreading on his lips.

“Seriously, Sam?” this one asks, rolling his eyes dramatically before he steps closer to his brother and shows him the prism again, a few inches away from his face. “That’s Cas!”

Sam blinks, staring at his brother as if he was crazy. “What? But I thought the Cas from this world had to g-” he begins, and his mouth opens in a little “O”.

“Exactly” Dean says with a grin, as he feels Cas’ grace warm and pulsing against his fingertips. “Cas, say hi!” he exclaims, and a thrill of joy runs up his arms for the first time in a while.

As an answer, the small thread of grace flows closer to the wall facing Sam, and has a sudden bright blow, shining like a polar star in the night, ribbons of blue water snapping back and forth around it.

Sam gasps. “Is that…?” he says, leaning until the tip of his nose nearly touches the vial. He then raises his shiny eyes to Dean, awed. “How did you do it?”

Dean has a smile. “I’ve got no idea. Castiel didn’t want to give it to me at first and I couldn’t blame him. But then, I don’t know, he just accepted...” he says, and his eyes get lost for a moment. Now that he thinks of it, he sees no reason why the angel gave him this part of his grace, when he made it very clear he wasn’t trusting Dean with it.

Sam blinks, and he has hard time ripping his eyes from Cas’ grace floating in the prism. The vision of Cas with his dark hair and confused eyes and tan coat overlays with that tiny amount of light, and he can’t deny he’s completely fascinated by the very thought they are the same thing.

“So that means we can leave now?” he asks, hope crushing his lungs with violence, “We can go home?” he adds with a strangled breath.

Dean nods, and it’s as if his brother’s words were the only thing that made him realize their journey was over. Between the angels and demons and pain and fear, the joy and relief of having Cas’ grace back was drowned in all a torrent of black thoughts. But now, it all comes rushing through him, and his heart misses a beat when he realizes he’s coming back to his home, with all his family safe, and another chance to make things right with Cas hanging around his neck.

Sam has a small, strangled laugh before he puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “OK” he says, his expression still lost and dazed at the idea they’re going to leave this evil-fueled world, “Then we better go now, no?”

“Yeah, I’m not staying any longer here” Dean answers, following in Sam’s steps, relieved that at least he’s not alone anymore in these dark, dead woods.

 

They walk quite fast, side by side, and a pleasant silence falls between them. Not the kind Dean experienced when he saw Castiel for first time, like a cage of nothingness falling on him, but just a moment devoid of any sound, soft and soothing, just enjoying his brother’s presence by his side. He’s just too homesick to think about anything else.

Sam’s eyes are narrowed, his mouth folded in a thin line and he seems to think and think, searching the right words to phrase his thoughts. Then, “What are we gonna do when we get back?” he asks, turning his head to look at Dean.

This one frowns. “What do you mean?” he asks, confused. Nothing feels real yet, but the steady swinging of the prism against his chest.

“I mean that all of this can’t happen again” Sam says, his stare darkening. “We have friends and people who help us, and it’s like they were all sacrificed because of us” he continues, his throat tight of sorrow, “Rowena and Crowley are dead, we couldn’t save Kelly in time, and Mom and Cas were sent to that place. And just think about Jack! He hasn’t even live for a week and he’s got no mother, Lucifer’s is obviously not going to act like a parent to him, and now he has to be with us in this world!”

“I know” Dean answers, exhausted. He gives Sam a look. “But what can we do?”

“I don’t know” Sam says, shaking his head, “Maybe the next time we face a threat like that, we ask for help. God, the angels, even demons if we have to!”

Dean gives him a completely puzzled look. “OK, first let’s just pretend God or anyone would help us. Then, what you’re saying is that we just stop doing it ourselves? That we just… give up?” he asks, unsettled.

“No, I’m not saying we give up” Sam answers hastily, even if the idea of a long, peaceful life makes him wish he could, “I meant that we stop dealing with situations we know we can’t handle.”

“Like…?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We had to deal with Leviathans, Eve, Abbadon, Lucifer, Amara, and now Jack!” Sam exclaims, making his brother flinch surprised by this sudden anger and despair in Sam’s voice. This one has a long sigh and softens. “We’re hunters, and hunters deal with monsters, not mythical creatures. We’re not God...” he finishes, lowering his head, suddenly feeling very down.

 

Silence settles back between them, and this time it’s truly suffocating. Doubts and longings float in the air, each of them quietly wishing for different things, and knowing they can’t have it. Dean dreams of a normal life too, one where he could wake up each morning and not fear that he or the people he loves will be brutally taken away in gruesome ways. A life where he would get up and have a warm cup of coffee in his backyard, maybe with some dogs, and a nice view on the ocean, and definitely Cas coming to sit by his side.

But deep down, he knows this future can’t be. First because there will always be more. There will always be another beast to emerge from the belly of the Earth, another monster to come roaming this world and destroy everything that stands in its way. There will always be something bad that will come to disturb the fragile peace this whole universe is in. The worst is yet to come, as they say.

And then because he feels like he _has_ to save this world. He knows that if he suddenly gave up on being a hunter, it’d wake him up at night. That the mere sight of strange deaths in newspapers will trigger his instinct and he would feel the twitch in his fingers, yearning to grab the car keys and drive to send a monster back to where it belongs. He knows he’d feel so wrong letting all these innocent people die, as if their voices could float to his ears at night and torment him with all the chaos he let happen.

Dean knows he’s not ready to do it, even if the possibility of a “happy” existence is more than tempting, even if he’s tired and agrees with Sam when he says mythical creatures and angel spawn are beyond their capacities.

Maybe one day, just not _now_.

 

Sam breaks the silence once again, his voice tiny and almost shy, slow as if not to brusk Dean. “What are you going to do about Cas?” he asks, not even crossing his brother’s eyes, despite the curiosity devouring his heart.

Dean frowns. “What do you mean?”

Sam gestures in the air around him. “You know, when we’ll get back and he’ll be alive again..?”

Dean shrugs. “Well, I’m gonna tell him to listen to me for once and stop being so reckless, otherwise I will end him myself” he says, and the grace suddenly knocks against his ribs, having an offended blow of light. Dean lowers his head to look at the thread of water pointing at him, and a smile spreads despite him on his lips. “Just kidding, Cas” he says, falsely exasperated.

Sam follows the scene with attentive eyes. No matter where they are, _what_ they are, the two of them always find a way to be close, to be together, and if that doesn’t say something about the nature of their relationship, then Sam doesn’t know what does.

“I meant,” he begins, not entirely sure if it’s the right moment and place to approach the subject, “What are you going to do about the two of you?”

Dean gives him a confused look. “Can you be more vague?” he asks, frowning.

Sam bites his lip, certain Dean will close on himself at the second he will speak. “I saw how you were when… when he died. We lost a lot of people, but this time, it destroyed you” he says, trying to be as gentle as possible. “And I know you won’t be fine until you have him back for real.”

Dean clenches his jaw and lowers his head. “Yeah” he mutters, looking at the ground unraveling under his steps. The pendant suddenly feels heavy on his chest and when he looks at it, he sees Cas’ grace curled at the bottom, and he supposes he is asleep now. He can’t really blame him, after everything they’ve been through in such a short amount of time.

Sam takes a deep breath. “I think you can’t lose him again” he says, briefly glancing at Dean, who keeps staring at the dirt under his feet. “I think you should talk to him.”

“About what?” Dean asks. Really, how could they ever have a casual chat after Cas died in such horrific way and Dean ran through an equally horrific world to get him back?

“Dean” Sam groans, “You’re not making this easier, are you?” he says, and he just wishes his mother was here. Maybe she’d know how to rip the words out of Dean’s stubborn mouth. He takes another deep breath, gathering all his strength and patience and, “About your feelings for him, Dean.”

 

Dean brutally stops, nearly choking on his own breath. He turns his head to look at Sam, his heart rapid in his chest. “What?” he blurts, and it’s weak like a whisper.

Sam gives him a compassionate look. “Dean, I’ve been living with you for years. You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” he says, and despite the seriousness of the situation, Dean can hear the slightly amused tone in his brother’s voice.

Dean’s eyes darken and he hastily begins to walk again, his steps fast, his fists clenched on his sides as he avoids his brother’s stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” he says behind his teeth.

Sam catches up with him. He gives him a side look. “You? Maybe, and I say _maybe_ , seeing Cas... as more than a friend?”

A bolt of electricity shots Dean in the stomach. His tongue goes slack. He was so sure he hid it so well that nobody but himself saw through his facade. And worse, he may trust Sam with his life, but they rarely speak of anything that’s not monsters and hunts. Now he’s stuck, he’s got no escape out of this talk, and it makes his heart freeze in his chest.

“N-no I don’t” he answers, uneasy. What on Earth is afraid of? Not Sam’s judgment, he knows that. But what then? That if he speaks these feelings out loud something truly awful will happen? That, as always, the things he loves the most will be destroyed in pain and sorrow?

Sam has a small sigh. “Alright, I was wrong. Maybe he’s not as important to you as I thought he was.”

Dean closes his eyes, clenches his jaw. The words hurt like acid, because they aren’t true. He takes a small, shaking breath. “He is” he finally says after a few moments, his voice trapped in his throat like in a cage.

Sam blinks several times, visibly surprised his brother finally admitted something. “Dean, I’m not trying to pressure you I just-” he begins, before stopping, and he just wishes they could be in the comfort of their home. “I know this is going to sound wrong, but you already lost him too many times. And you’re not always going to have Lucifer’s son to open you a portal to another world to get him back.” He has a deep breath, before he dives his eyes into Dean’s. “I think you should stop taking him as granted.”

Dean shivers, a shock wave resonating in all his bones. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think we’re both making the same mistake. We keep thinking he’s gonna be there no matter what, that he’s always going to come back one way or another” Sam says, trying to be both gentle and firm. “I have no unfinished business with him. If he really… dies one day, and this time for good, it won’t be easy for me, I can assure you that. But I will move on.” He gives Dean a sorrowful look. “But you won’t. Because you’ll still think of what you never said to him, and it’ll eat you up, Dean. That’s why I think you should talk to him before it’s too late.”

Dean scoffs bitterly. “What good would that do?” he says, a lump on his throat. “It’s not like the feeling flows both way.”

“Doesn’t need to” Sam answers and he raises his head as he sees the landscape changed once again, the woods becoming greener and warmer, as if that tiny piece of this world wasn’t touched by agony and despair. He turns back to Dean. “Mom told me that he once said to her he wasn’t sure he felt like he belonged. And I’ve been thinking about it, you know. How he started to put his life in danger, with Lucifer, or Lily Sunders. I think Cas was in a really bad place.”

Dean’s eyes darken. “And so what? You think me ruining whatever we have will make him feel better?” he asks, bitter.

Sam has a little exasperated sigh. “Being hunters doesn’t mean we should live alone for the rest of our lives. Cas needs someone to look after him, and so do you. He needs someone to take care of him, and that’s what you’re ready to do.” He has a pause, so long that Dean starts to think he has finished, before he speaks again, “Besides, I do think the feeling flows both ways.”

Dean’s heart misses a beat and he turns to Sam, breathless. He’s about to ask for further explanation when a familiar voice resonates near them.

 

“Sam?”

This one accelerates and arrives in a crossroad of dusty paths. “I’m here!” he shouts, before he invites his brother to follow him with a gentle smile.

“Sam are you OK?” their mother says, arriving with hush little steps, her blonde hair pale and dull under the faint light. Her eyes then fall on Dean and they open wide of shock. “Dean!” she exclaims before running into his arms with such force he has a step back.

“Hey mom” he says as she wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. Her hands are clenched to his jacket, so tight he feels them shaking, and he hears the quiet sniffing coming from her as she holds back heavy sobs.

“We thought you were gone!” she says, holding him a bit tighter before she finally lets him go, her hands on his arms as she stares at him, her eyes damp and full of joy. “Where were you?” she asks, shaking her head as if she just couldn’t believe he was standing in front of her.

“It’s a long story” he says, still shaken by his conversation with Sam. He then grabs the pendant and raises it to the height of his mother’s eyes. “Maybe I can explain it to you when we’re home?” he says, a smile spreading on his lip as he sees Mary’s eyes widen of awe.

“Is that… him?” she asks, cupping the prism like water in both her hands. She observes the white-blue light moving softly towards her in a clear thread, pointing at her in this uncanny kind of staring. She looks at Dean, breathless. “You got him back” she whispers, her eyes suddenly filled with pride and she has a long sigh of relief. “Let’s not waste any more time here, alright?” she says, turning around and inviting her sons to follow her.

 

They arrive in a small copse. Dean sees Jack sitting on the ground, before the Nephilim hears his steps and raises his head to him. His golden eyes snap wide open and he suddenly gets up, and to Dean’s greatest surprise, the eerie creature he is comes to hug him like a child. Jack whispers his name and if the hunter is unsettled at first by this sudden wave of desperate affection, he then gently pats Jack’s back. He never thought he’d be so happy to see Lucifer’s anything. Maybe he just grew fond of that odd, scary looking boy with his wise words and glowing eyes.

When Jack steps back, Dean sees a group of people he doesn’t know standing close to each other behind him. He gives Sam a questioning look but a woman with long, dark hair and soft eyes walks from the group to him.

“You must be Dean” she says, and Dean feels like he’s stung by lightning. She gives him a gentle smile despite the dust and blood on her face, “And I’m-”

“Eileen” Dean blurts, his heart beating fast as he recognizes her petite silhouette, and the tenderness that seems to float around her no matter which Universe she’s in.

She has a confused look, before her lip breaks into another smile. “Well, your brother had the same reaction. Am I famous or is it just my natural beauty?” she asks, and it hurts so bad, cause even in a world that is full of chaos, she’s there, and she’s joyful, and she’s _alive_.

“Both” Dean answers with a grin spreading on his mouth, before he discreetly glances at Sam. This one lowered his head to the ground, apparently letting them talk, but Dean sees they’re something else.

Something in his clenched jaw, his slow, shaking breathing, and the way all his features drip of sorrow. Dean feels suddenly terribly guilty: after losing Eileen, Sam never spoke about it, eaten by grief, while Dean just broke down after Cas died, entirely shutting down like a bad machine.

Eileen seems to notice both their odd behaviors, but she says nothing about it. “We found your brother and mother, and your little evil angel near one of our camps. We’re with your friend Bobby” she says, gesturing at the rest of her group who waves at him, muddy and bloody but warm, tied together by strong threads like a strange, stitched family. “We saw angels at the same place they saw you go before you disappeared. We thought that they could have abducted you and so we decided to help them.”

“Why?” Dean asks, frowning, both because he’s unsettled by her welcoming behavior, and because he has to shift his own with her, as she’s hearing him clearly in this world. No banshee, no pain, no death.

“Because if we as humans don’t help each other, then who will?” she answers, her eyes certain and strong and pure. He already misses her, and he knows Sam must be aching to the bone in this moment.

 

Dean nods, giving her a small smile before she turns away and walks back to her group. He then feels something gently tugging the pendant around his neck. He turns his eyes to see Jack observing Cas’ grace inside of it, his face lit up by awe, before he crosses Dean’s stares and blushes, coming back to his solemn, wise angelic face.

“I knew you would succeed” he says, his golden eyes diving into Dean’s, “I knew you would do anything to bring Castiel back to you.”

It’s Dean’s turn to feel the heat spreading on his skin. How can that tiny creature who lived for less than a week see so clearly through him? He clears his throat. “Thanks. But it’s not done yet. We have to get home now.” He stares strong at Jack, at his two ponds of liquid suns sunken in his face, “Can you do that?”

The Nephilim raises an eyebrow in a very sarcastic, human way. “Of course I can. Who do you think I am?” he says, creating a wave of raw laugh from Dean.

 

While the two of them were talking, Sam approached the group of survivors, or rather Eileen who is observing a map gently laid on the dirt in front of her. He sits next to her on the fallen trunk.

He thinks for a second, both soothed and nervous by her close presence. “So, are you going to come back with us?” he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful, for he knows, oh he knows very painfully it’s not the Eileen he knows. Whatever he might have shared with her, this version of her doesn’t remember it, for she never lived it.

Eileen turns her head to him. “Sam” she begins, very softly, and he already knows what she’s going to say, “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asks, sorrowful.

She gives him a gentle smile. “No matter how dangerous and cursed this world is, it’s mine” she says, giving a look to the last trees spared by war, “I have to keep fighting and helping people like you and your brother, so maybe one day all of this will be over.”

“But you could have a normal life, _now_ ” Sam insists, even if he knows it’s pointless.

She suddenly reaches out to him and takes both his hands in hers, catching the breath in his lungs. “Whatever you had with _her_ , I can’t give you that. We’re from two very different universes and as you can’t stay here with me, I can’t come with you in your world. That’s how things are, and sometimes we can’t change that.”

He nods, trying not to let grief overflow inside of him. After all, she’s not wrong. The connection he created with Eileen was dear to him, but it’s gone now, and he can’t do anything about it. She was not a celestial being that could travel through worlds and rejoin her other self. She was just a human, a very mortal one, and maybe that was the most beautiful thing about falling for her. The thought that she might disappear at any time, and yet let himself drown in that red, velvety feeling.

 

Eileen turns her head to look at Jack and Dean gathering their belongings. As the little Nephilim sits in the middle of the clearing and closes his eyes, palms already glowing gold underneath, Dean is standing by his side, nervousness and hope coloring his features as he clutches the prism in his hand, almost instinctively.

Eileen has a soft smile. “I still can’t believe he came all this way for an angel” she says, observing Dean from afar.

Sam’s eyes follows her stare. “Yeah, well, the angels from our world are not like yours.”

She glances at him. “Are they good? Are they kind and understanding and merciful?” she asks with her low, satiny voice.

Sam scoffs. “I wouldn’t say it like that” he answers, “But Cas is different. He’s different for Dean.”

Eileen looks at Sam’s brother for a little longer, the worry and tiredness on his brow visible from miles. He seems so vulnerable, with his bag hanging loosely from his broad shoulders and his clenched jaw and dark eyes.

“I hope you’ll find someone who would cross worlds for you too” Eileen says, turning to dive her eyes into Sam’s. “You deserve a love like that.”

He smiles at her in return, knowing no words would express the intense pain he feels in this moment. He presses her hands in his own, one last time before he nods at her and gets up. Dean turns and gives him an insistent look, visibly thrilled to know he’s about to leave this place.

 

A thin spark of gold is already appearing in front of them when there’s a great gust of wind, a collective gasp from the group of survivors, and suddenly Cas is standing there, alert and alive.

Wild haired and shiny eyed Cas, holding two golden blades in his hands, black blood splattered on his face already stained of dust and sweat, wide wings black as night spread behind him, feathers sharp like dark swords reaching to the skies.

Sam’s breaths get stuck in his throat and he stares at the apparition, frozen. On the corner of his eye he sees Eileen’s group all standing in one move, guns and knives and bows pointed at the angel, anger and hatred like electricity in their mouths, spitting at his feet. Even Jack seems to be speechless in front of him, looking at Cas from head to toe, his golden eyes widened of awe and fear.

 

The only person that is not burning of terror or fury is Dean, who stares at Castiel with eyes full of confusion. “Cas?” he says, and the angel’s head snaps to him as he makes a few steps to the hunter, creating a wave of dark protest from the survivors.

“Dean” Castiel answers, and Sam is stunned by how familiar his brother’s name sound on the angel’s tongue, not very different from the Cas he knows. “You have to leave. Now” he says, his tone urging and nervous and afraid.

Dean walks to him, frowning. Castiel’s eyes fall upon the prism with the thread of his grace still warm and bright in it, and he has a sigh of relief, before he dives them back into Dean’s. “It’s Lucifer. The one who came from your world. He’s with the demons and he’s coming after you” he says, chest rising and crashing rapidly, wings having an angry beat.

Dean’s heart misses a beat and he turns to Jack. “Can you open the portal now?” he asks.

The Nephilim nods. “Yes, but it is going to take a little longer. I had an anchor in our world, one that I do not have now.” He shuts his eyes tight, and all his features seeps of concentration and worry. “Please, give me some time.”

“We don’t have time!” Castiel exclaims, visibly not very at ease with all these weapons pointed at him as he steps closer to Dean. “Lucifer’s just a few miles away. You go, and I’ll deal with him!”

Dean frowns. “But what about you? If he’s got all the demons, and….” His voice breaks, “He thinks he has killed you, so when he’ll see you’re alive, he’ll probably try again.”

Castiel’s hand raises to land on the prism, right above Dean’s heart. “He can try” he says, and his warm eyes search Dean’s. “What matters is that you get back to your world with this grace and get your friend back.”

Dean gives him a desperate look. The rest of the group follows the exchange, all wide eyed and mouth agape. There’s a stunning familiarity between the two of them, as if they knew each other for years, which they already know it’s not the case. Or at least not with that version of that angel friend Dean came to save. Still, it’s simply uncanny to see them giving each other worried glances and be the witness of something as impossible as an angel and a human being so close without gutting each other.

“You’re going home, I promise you” Castiel says, the tip of his wing curling to touch Dean’s back in a soothing gesture.

 

Jack suddenly gasps heavily behind them. They all turn back, alert, all limbs tense and ready to cross the passage. “I am ready. The portal is about to open.” He looks at them, his eyes shiny of hope. “We are not too late.”

“That’s where you are wrong, son” a voice says, hidden in the thickness of the heavy shadows.

Sweat beads shape on Dean’s back as he slowly turns around, only to cross bright, blood red eyes.

 

Lucifer grins at him. “Long time no see, am I right?”

**X**

 

Time suddenly snaps back at him and demons flood the clearing and it all turns into a carnage of screams and horns and very human weapons. The creatures jump on the survivors, thrilled to smell warm flesh in the air, already dreaming of diving their fangs and claws into arms and necks and bellies.

Sam pushes Eileen behind him, standing like a shield between the evil beasts and her, but she escapes his grip and runs to fight with her group, and he’s left alone in front of Lucifer, terror shaking in his stomach as he is certain, oh so certain he’ll see her cold and lifeless, once again.

 

Lucifer’s smile spreads even wider, and he takes a deep breath, eyes closed, as if he was finding the greatest pleasure in the shed blood and stench of fear acrid in the woods. The battle is raging in the clearing, humans covered of dust and tiredness rolling on the ground with demons black like the night, and they hear cries of agony when their fangs dive in skin and muscles, reaching to the soul nesting in their bones.

He looks at Mary, who stands very silent and tired and hopeless. “That’s for trapping me here” he says and when he snaps his fingers, she falls on the floor, breathing but unconscious.

“Mom!” Sam shouts, rushing to her, making sure she’s alright. He turns to look at Dean, and nods. She’s still there, they’re not losing her, they’re not losing anyone.

“Oh, don’t worry, she’ll live” Lucifer says with a joyful smile that makes shivers run down their spines. “Killing her is going to be slow and painful, I promise you.”

“What do you want?” Sam asks, and his voice is just a whisper, and he just can’t take any of Lucifer’s tricks anymore.

Lucifer ignores him and makes a step to them, his face a dreadful and cruel thing. He slightly opens his arms on his sides, diving his eyes into Jack’s, who is standing behind the Winchesters, fists clenched of fury. “What now?” Lucifer says, raising his eyebrows, “You’re not gonna come to hug your dear old dad?”

Jack stays silent, and his eyes shine ten times brighter, and he tries to hold all his anger inside his body, tries not to burst and become the monster his father wants him to be. A weapon, a destroyer of worlds that brings chaos and destruction wherever he goes.

 

Lucifer scoffs. He doesn’t mind for now. He doesn’t need the kid’s affection, he needs his power and loyalty. He seems strangely attached to those irritating fools that are the Winchesters, but when he’ll see them dropping on the ground like dead moths, he’ll change his mind and come to someone greater, someone he owes his existence to.

Lucifer smirks and turns to dive his eyes into Dean’s. “So, how’s life going without your angel pet following you around?” he says, crossing his arms on his chest as if he was just having a casual conversation.

Dean clenches his jaw and all his being starts to boil, wrath rising inside of him like an arrow shot to the sky. Cas is not an object, not a little animal that does what it’s told to do. He’s not a tool you can pick up whenever you need it before you push it aside when you’re done. He grits his teeth and the knuckles on his fists are white like snow. Lucifer made him believe he had lost Cas for good, just for his own amusement, and now he’s going to pay for it.

“I’m gonna kill you” Dean spits and he starts walking fast to Lucifer. And _kill_ is such a sweet word in his mouth, for in his mind it rather sounds like crushing the archangel’s skull with his hands, beat him to the ground until he’s nothing less than a human-shaped puddle of blood and guts, and then, only then he will end his suffering and dive an angel blade right into his eye, piercing that cursed brain living warm and malevolent inside his head.

“You can try” Lucifer says with an evil grin and he begins to walk too, his eyes lit up with bright blood and his teeth are clenched, and all he wants is to burst that annoying bug in a cloud of ashes.

 

But before he can even land a finger on Dean, a violent blow pushes him several feet away, and he lands with a thud on the soft muddy ground. He raises his head, features distorted by anger and suddenly he sees Castiel standing in front of him, and his eyes open wide and he blurts his name, incredulous, before he sees the black coat and starry eyes and wide wings, and he understands.

He gets up in one swift movement. “Hello brother” he says and Castiel clenches his jaw, both his blades raised to Lucifer. This one tilts his head to look at him and with a smile dark like the night he says, “Guess I’ll just have to kill you one more time.”

He jumps on Castiel and this one pushes him once again with such force the Devil’s breath is blown out of his lungs. Castiel turns to Dean, sweat covering his brow and emergency dripping from his bright eyes. “Open the portal, now!” he shouts, before he swoops on Lucifer like a flight of crow.

 

Dean stays frozen for a few seconds, and Lucifer’s blade is brushing against Castiel’s chest, and his hands are grabbing his throat and his face is stained by rage and Dean doesn’t think he can see Cas dying one more time. With a sigh that rips his soul apart, he turns back and runs to Jack, who follows the battle with eyes afraid and somber.

“Jack, you have to get us out! Right now!” Dean shouts and the Nephilim blinks, unsettled, before he seems to snap back into the present and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. His palms are rapidly filled with ethereal gold, and the same color shines underneath his eyelids as he focuses on opening a door between worlds.

Eileen’s voice is resonating all around, calling the rest of her group with fear in her words, and the demonic corpses fall one by one, and she grabs the survivors’ hands to lead them out this hell. She has a last look to Sam, eyes sorrowful and mourning, before she runs away, hair floating in the breeze like ribbons of silk.

Sam holds back a sob and runs to Dean and Jack. He sits by his brother, giving him a worried glance. He swallows his fear back and as Sam encourages Jack, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, Dean turns to look at Castiel and Lucifer, still wrestling among the trees and ferns and roots.

 

Castiel seems to be winning: he’s stronger and trained by a merciless world, and his blades are longer and sharper, and his wings are weapons too, leaving tiny but painful cuts on Lucifer’s skin. The Devil is visibly taken off guard by the power of this brother he so easily ended not so long ago. Every time he tries to punch or kick or bite him, Castiel moves aside and his hands and teeth only catch thin air.

And then, it seems like the angel feels Dean’s eyes on him and he’s distracted from his task and he turns his head to make sure the hunter is fine. Lucifer takes advantage of that weakness and his blade traces a sharp, cruel line across Castiel’s chest, leaving a river of blue light emerging from it.

Castiel suddenly turns back and his hand flutters to the wound, and he raises his head to Lucifer, shock visibly filling him as he stumbles back, water flowing between his fingers. The Devil has a wide, joyless smile and he picks up one of Castiel’s blades that fell on the floor, before he walks to him, as Cas is leaning against a tree, his breath rapid and his wings shivering.

Dean doesn’t think twice. “No!” he shouts as he gets up and runs to the two celestial beings. He can’t see another blade diving in Castiel’s chest, he can’t see white-blue light bursting out of him before he drops on the floor, lifeless. It doesn’t matter if it’s not his Cas, he just can’t let this one die too.

He stands between Castiel and Lucifer and he points his gun at him, shooting and shooting and shooting, and he knows it’s useless, but it slows him down and it keeps him away from Castiel. The angel whispers Dean’s name behind him, and the grace shakes against his chest, begging him to get away, but he won’t, not this time.

 

The Universe can’t decide and two things happen at the same time. First, Lucifer’s blade leaves one more scar, but now it’s on Dean’s side and he gasps, the pain red and hot in his ribs and the blood gently starts to flow, thick on his shaking hands. Then, a bright orange light bursts near them, warm and dangerous like flames, and suddenly there’s a breach in space and time and the portal is open, thin wound of light ablaze ripping the calm woods around.

Lucifer stares at it, breathless and he sees an escape, but first he has to get rid of all these rocks tied to his ankles. He turns back to Dean and with a cry of pure rage, he raises his blade and he sees it diving in his chest, breaking all bones and veins around, the blood running wild.

Except the tip of the blade doesn’t even touches Dean and suddenly his weapon flies away from his hand and he’s down on his knees, bound by a spell so strong his grace hides behind his ribs, terrified. He stares at Castiel, stunned, but this one is breathing heavily as Dean is checking on him and the two of them stare at the Devil with the same astonishment.

 

Then he sees the snakes of orange light swirling around him and he understands.

 

He turns his head and he sees Jack standing a few feet away from him, his fists and jaw clenched, his eyes like devilish fires and suddenly he’s right in front of him, his small shadow weighing down on him. His human side makes him real and warm and full of rage, while his angelic side makes him terrifying and powerful and driven by revenge.

“Your reign of terror has to cease, Father” he says and his voice is so wise and deep and low, and it seems so strange and frightening, these mythical words coming out of his innocent mouth.

“Son, listen” Lucifer begins, having a weak smile at Jack, but this one doesn’t listen. With one look he makes him quiet before he turns back to the Winchesters.

“Now you go back to your world” he says, gentle and sorrowful.

Sam blinks, confused. “You come back with us right?”

Jack gives him a compassionate smile. “I will come back” he says, before he turns his eyes of flames back to his father, no emotion piercing through these pits of Hell, “But first, I have a mission to accomplish.”

Dean is about to protest, but Sam suddenly grabs his arm and forces him to walk away. Dean gives Castiel a desperate look, and the angel gives him the same in return, his wings dropping low behind him. Dean wants to say he’s sorry, sorry for leaving him in this world because he couldn’t fit elsewhere, sorry for abandoning him to such dreadful fate. But he has no other choice. He has a chance to make things right. He _has_ to leave.

He swallows his sorrow back and turns away, holding the wound on his sides, making sure the prism is still around his neck. His brother takes their still unconscious mother in his arms and crosses the portal without turning back, knowing he has nothing left to do in this world.

 

Dean does turn back. He looks back and sees Jack’s eyes having a bright blow of light, and Lucifer bursts into a cloud of amber ashes.

He sees Castiel giving him a last look, and his wings have one slow beat as if to mourn, or to say goodbye, before Dean turns back and his body is swallowed by velvety flames.

 

**X**

 

Dean has barely put his feet down on the ground that he’s already hushing his brother, as if one minute could change his entire world. Sam supposes it could. One tiny minute without Cas must feel like eternity.

He keeps pacing in the library while Sam gently sits their mother on a chair, making sure she’s comfortable and will not be too disoriented when she’ll wake. He has a long sigh of relief, and suddenly he realizes.

He looks around and he just realizes they’re home. He doesn’t even know how many hours or days they spent in the alternate world, but he missed the calm and warm atmosphere of the bunker like a part of himself. He’s suddenly overflowing with emotion, both joyful and oddly sorrowful, both alive and asleep. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, enjoying the steady beat of his heart in the soothing silence around.

Dean feels like his blood is boiling and he shakes, and he wants to shout and crumble and fall on the ground. His knuckles feel like they’re filled with thunder and the storm grows in his throat. There’s such anguish in his mouth that he bites his tongue, hard, trying to ease himself, trying to find peace inside of him, when everything that’s behind his ribs is chaos and blood and grief.

 

Suddenly he cannot wait anymore, and he grabs Sam’s arm and drags him out of the room. Sam has a faint protest and gives him a worried look. “Dean you’re hurt” he says, seeing the blood staining Dean’s t-shirt and he tries to stop him, pulling at his sleeve to slow his steps.

“Can wait” Dean mutters, accelerating, his eyes shiny and wide open as if he was feverish, as if he was gently slipping into madness.

“Dean” Sam insists, and he knows he’s just helpless. There’s nothing that could make Dean sit and rest for a few hours. No storm, no god would make him turn away from the door he’s now facing.

Dean takes a deep breath and opens it in a swift gesture. Cas is still there, gently laying on his bed, eyelids closed, chest quiet. Dean approaches, and he feels somehow nervous, taking the prism off his chest, clutching the pendant tight in his warm, shaking palm. When he finally stands near the bed, Jack’s spell fades with an eerie sigh, yellow and orange smokes slowly disappearing to leave Cas in plain sight.

 

Now, Dean holds his breath and kneels by his side, glancing at Sam behind him. Sam nods at him, before he comes to sit next to him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Dean feels his heart beat furiously inside of him, red and frozen and swollen. He approaches the vial from Cas’ mouth and opens it. The light first seems shy at first, staying at the bottom of its cage, a tiny thread observing the situation. Then, it seems to be drawn to Cas’ body and it’s as if it doesn’t have any more conscience, and it’s just a ribbon of light, and it finds its way through Cas’ lips, coming like fresh, celestial water.

Sam and Dean barely have the time to shut their eyes before static and light flood the room and it’s so blinding they feel it clawing their brains, scratching their fluttering lashes, and suddenly it’s over.

 

Dean blinks a few times and his heart stops. A timid smile spreads on his face, and he’s there, he’s wounded but alive, and he’s victorious. He travelled through worlds and ran through an entire land, nearly got killed by rogue angels, carried a grace like a rope around his neck and was almost stopped by Lucifer and demons closer to animals than mythical creatures.

Hell, all his doubts flew away and he’s ready to grab Cas’ face and kiss it with all the despair he felt since he let his burnt wings on the ground. He feels too electric to even think about the consequences. He’s just burning up, and freezing, and moving and paralyzed.

 

But the seconds pass, and they turn into minutes, and Cas doesn’t come alive.

His eyelashes don’t flutter, his chest doesn’t start to rise and fall, he has no deep gasp as his eyes snap open, and his voice doesn’t resonate in Dean’s ears, ringing like church bells.

His smile slowly fades and he blinks, confused and he doesn’t realize what’s happening. He hears Sam having a strangled sob, before he whispers his name and presses his shoulder harder, to keep them both in one piece.

Time flows and flows and Cas doesn’t move. No confused frown comes darkening his eyes, and no question shapes on his lips, and no hands come to rest on Dean’s forehead, making the pain and blood disappear. There’s just great, blue emptiness.

And suddenly Dean realizes. And it hurts so bad he feels like he’s been hit in the stomach and his body folds in two, and he can’t breathe and all the room turns black around him, smoke and fire and ashes filling his mouth and eyes and nose and ears.

 

Cas is dead.

And he’s not coming back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note to let you know the next chapter may take some time to arrive, as I currently have my final exams! Thank you for all your kudos and nice words and thank you for following me on this journey! <3


	5. This Forsaken Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, this is just a little warning about this chapter! As it's mainly focused on Dean's mourning, there are several parts that may be seen as disturbing/gruesome or quite depressing in general!
> 
> And if you want to get a bit more into the mood, I'd highly recommend this song that was a huge inspiration for me while writing this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lesVfOrRPIY

Dean clenches his jaw and shakes his head. No, it can’t be. It’s impossible.

All his limbs are shaking and a wave of hot, honey-thick fever crashes over him, flames licking his bones, and it feels like his veins are rivers of poison and they hurt so much he wishes he could rip them out of his body.

He refuses to believe it. His teeth chatter and he suddenly feels cold and empty, as if all his energy had been sucked out of him. His breaths are short and rapid and each of them is a blow in his ribs, each of them feels like something is pinching his heart between two sharp nails, enjoying the sight of the drops of blood beading on the surface.

His hands tremble, they tremble so bad he can’t hold the prism anymore. It falls on the ground and rolls far away from him, and he wants to crush it under his feet, turn it to dust, make it disappear forever.

How could he even believe that such fragile thing could hold Cas? No, the fault is on him, not the prism. He was the one meant to bring Cas back. So how foolish was he to believe he could succeed when his skin and muscles and soul are paper thin?

A tide of anger swells inside of him. Jack told him it would work, so why is Cas not speaking, not walking, not breathing? He knows he shouldn’t have trusted Lucifer’s offspring. After all, what good could come out of such evil creature?

He was so damn stupid! He saw Cas’ grace bursts out of him, the silver blade clear and cruel in his chest, he saw the great wings burnt on the ground, and yet he had to believe he could do something. Damn thing, damn little spoiled child!

Did he really think it’d be that easy to bring Cas back? That he’d just need a little dark magic and a little persuasion and then it’d be over? That he’d come home and drink some nice, hot coffee with him as if nothing ever happened?

What kind of mad, delusional spirit could ever think that?

 _Himself_ , he realizes with bitterness. He was twisted enough to believe he could control life and death, that he was like a god at the dawn of this world and the others, and he could just make the blood flow back in Cas’ veins. But really, what is he, if not just an ant, a bug in this big, cold universe? A speck of dust that could be erased with a flick, an inconvenience easily brushed away from creation?

He clenches his teeth harder, trying to hold himself in one piece. He’s so angry he feels all his body burning up. He’s simply useless, miserable. He crossed a portal between worlds, ran through a devastated land, was bruised and broken by angels and demons, and yet he wasn’t able to complete his mission.

God, he’d laugh if his throat didn’t feel so tight, his heart so frozen and heavy. For now, he can’t move, he’s paralyzed, he can only stare blankly at Cas, his lashes barely fluttering. He feels like a shell, like a space of nothingness.

That’s what he feels, nothing at all. He stares at Cas, and he wonders with no emotion, _why_? Why wasn’t he enough to save him? Of course, he’s no winged, wrathful brethren, or Father of all this galaxy, but he’s something. A tiny, insignificant something, but still breathing and aching and longing.

He had faith, for once. He had faith that his being could handle such responsibility, he had faith that he wouldn’t let Cas down. That he was strong enough to carry him and hell, he believed so bad in those flickering blue eyes and confused frown and half open mouth. He believed he could fix his mistakes the way you try to end a forest fire with tears.

And yet, he failed. Miserably. He’s puzzled, for he doesn’t know what he did wrong. Jack and Castiel thought he could do it, so why didn’t he? Did they overestimate him to the point they were completely blinded by their faith, like he did? He feels acid inside, and he blames their angelic words for his failure, even if he knows it’s wrong.

He feels so detached from his body now. He feels like he’s observing the scene from above, and he’s just that dead weight, that dark matter waiting for a miracle, thinking that if he wants it with enough conviction, Cas will wake. And all his soul burns of that despair, and he wants Cas to be alive more than anything, but it doesn’t work. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to have him by his side? Maybe his feelings aren’t as strong as he thought, and maybe they’re just not enough to fuel Cas’ grace again?

But then, why does it hurt so much? Why does it feel like his whole world has collapsed around him, leaving him surrounded by ruins?

 

His state of muteness is broken by a heavy sob near him. His head slowly turns to the source of the sound, and he feels like a machine, contemplating the situation with eyes unblinking and heart silent. It’s only when he sees Sam that something much more painful opens its eyes inside of him.

His brother is trying to hold himself together, he sees it in his clenched fists and twitchy breaths and tense features. But the tears in his eyes don’t lie. Some of them roll down his face in silence, crash onto the floor without a sound, and all his being exhales sorrow. He blinks and has a short, strangled sigh, as if he was trying to push this familiar demon he knows to be called loss away.

He blinks, and more tears fall from his eyes, lost into space. He then seems to feel Dean staring at him, and he turns to him, stare cloudy and damp like rainy days.

“I’m so sorry” he murmurs, his voice tiny and full of grief.

Dean considers him, confused. Sorry of what? He’d like to ask, but his own voice seems to be stuck in his throat. He frowns, and it’s as if his brain had been shut down and then turned on again. He blinks several times, puzzled, and he can’t remember why his chest hurt so much, why his head is so heavy and the inside of his skull so moving and blue.

Sam turns his eyes back to the bed and Dean does the same, his lungs dry and quiet and suddenly his mind falls upon a vision he hoped was just a fragment of his imagination. He sees Cas lying still, and suddenly it all comes back to him, and the demon inside of him is fully awake and the pain bursts, glacial.

His eyes open wide and he can’t hold a strangled sob back anymore. The ache is suddenly so strong it swallows him whole, and he drowns in an oily ocean, and it feels like the darkness is filling his eyes now, and he can’t see anything. He feels the nausea moving in his stomach, slick and repulsive, and his nose is filled with the stench of ashes and rotten things, and something shrieks in his ears, static finding his way up to his brain. His mouth is filled with dread and incomprehension and he thinks he’s going to throw up and the horror crashes over him like cold water.

 

Cas is dead. He’s dead, lifeless, _gone_.

Not working on something personal God knows where, or possessed by an evil spirit or just being so painfully secretive. He’s gone, for good.

 

Dean gasps for air and it feels like something is clawing at his heart, ripping long, bloody threads out of it, suffering hungry like an animal. He feels sick, sick and feverish and on the verge of passing out.

Cas is dead, and his grace will rot inside of him and his body will decay like all living things that no longer are. His skin and muscles will melt and worms will feast on them and his bones will turn to dust and flowers will grow among them. Dirt and roots and shadows will cover his remains and here will he lay forever. The memory of his existence will be erased from this world and very few will remember he ever was. And one day only the earth itself will still hear the echoes of his steps.

The thought of him disappearing in the soil makes Dean’s mind flow like oil, thick and disgusting and the bile is acid in the back of his throat. His head is filled with terrible visions, visions that twist his guts and makes him want to empty all his body. Fluids and guts, all thrown out, his soul crawls under his bones, wants to escape the damp, sick atmosphere settling inside of him.

Cas can’t become something like this. He can’t melt into the soft earth, he can’t turn into something as monstrous as a body touched by death.

Dean shakes his head and fights against the sticky feeling inside his mouth and belly and gets closer to the bed. He grips Cas’ sleeve and shakes it with all the strength he has left. “Cas?” he says, hushed like a little prayer, hoping he may be wrong and the grace just needs to settle back in the vessel and that all Cas needs is time.

But Cas still doesn’t wake. He doesn’t move, as if he was sleeping very deeply. But Dean sees it’s not slumber at all. His eyelashes don’t flutter from time to time, his chest doesn’t gently rise and fall, his mouth doesn’t slightly twitch in his dreams. He’s just motionless, gray and eerie like the silence that fell on Dean when he first met Castiel in the other world.

The ocean moves more violently inside him and he feels himself slipping into madness, his eyes clouded, tears rolling furiously on his cheeks, his head hurting from the pain and grief. “Cas!” he nows shouts, his name rough and desperate on his tongue that he bit to the blood. “CAS!” he howls with rage and ache and he shakes his arm so strong his fingertips dive in his stiffened skin and so strong Cas’ head is shaken too and it comes to rest on his side, gentle and heavy like a doll’s.

“NO!” Dean shouts and his fists are still clenched on Cas’ sleeve and his hands shake like a maniac’s and he keeps repeating the angel’s name under his breath, fire rushing through his arms and legs and head.

 

Sam’s hands are the only thing that makes him go away as they rip him from the desperate grip he has on Cas. He falls back on the floor and he stays a moment like this, sitting heavily, breathless, staring at Castiel almost incredulously, and he keeps repeating _no, no, no_ in a raspy breath.

Sam whispers his name and only then Dean turns to look at him. “Sam, he’s gone” he says, and these very words seem to cost him the greatest pain, making him wince and his body folds in two like a paper boat in the hurricane.

Sam gives him the saddest of looks. “I know” he answers in a murmur, and the truth settles inside of him, slowly but surely.

Dean keeps staring at him, barely breathing, his eyes so wide and afraid he looks like a deer in the headlights. “What am I gonna do?” he asks in a small voice, confused and lost.

“I don’t know” Sam answers before he has a long sigh. Through the ache and disbelief he sees Dean and he sees his disheveled hair, his dusty skin, his red and swollen eyes, and the wounds he bears, both on his neck and on his side, and his t-shirt is already stained of dark blood. “Dean, we have to go” he says, a glimpse of sanity shining inside of him.

Dean’s eyes are back on the bed, fixed strong yet glassy and dull and blank. “Where?” he asks in a hoarse voice, barely listening.

 

Sam takes a deep breath. He knows he can’t be weak, not now. He’s hurting, terribly, but he knows he’ll have to get up some time soon, and that he will have to keep on sleeping and waking and eating and hunting. But Dean doesn’t know that. For him, the world has stopped. It just ceased to be.

Sam knows it’s going to be long and tough, but he’ll do anything for Dean to feel better one day. He knows he won’t be able to erase the pain completely but months, years after it’ll eventually fade away until it’s just a thin whisper in the back of his head. But for now, it’s just the beginning of a very long, chaotic road and their roles switch and he’s now the one who has to watch over Dean and make sure he doesn’t fall apart.

He puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to be gentle, but Dean flinches at the touch, the ache making him alert and nervous like a trapped animal. “You have to eat something. Let me check on your wounds” Sam says with a low, reassuring voice. “Then you have to rest.”

Dean nods, surprisingly. “I will do that” he says and Sam’s eyes open wide, before his hope is soon shattered away, “But only when Cas wakes.”

Sam stares at Dean, breath blown out of his lungs. “Dean” he starts, begging and praying that his brother is not falling into madness, “You know he is...”

“I know” Dean says and Sam almost has a sigh of relief. Dean’s eyes darken and are now hard and cold like stones, meaning he’s perfectly aware of what’s happening. “But he will wake up, I know it.”

“Dean” Sam insists, clenching his jaw. He doesn’t know what to say to him without being too rough. He wipes his eyes and nose on his sleeve and has a deep sigh before he continues. “We can come back checking on him after you rested, alright?” he suggests, trying to find a compromise Dean will accept.

But this one shakes his head. “I don’t want him to be alone when he’ll wake up.”

Sam feels his heart racing. It’s like walking on burning embers now. One word too brutal and Dean might just shut down. “Dean, I know it’s hard. Believe me, I feel it too, but you have to get up. You can’t stay here forever.”

“But...” Dean begins, and suddenly the tears are back, damp and hot and awful in his eyes, and Sam knows that even though Dean refuses to admit Cas is gone, he also knows it’s the truth. “We can’t let him...”

“Come with me now, OK?” Sam asks, taking his brother’s arm and trying to raise him up. “Please.”

Dean’s glassy eyes turn to him and he shakes his head, sobs heavy and painful in his throat. “There’s still a chance...”

Sam suddenly takes his face between his hands and dive his eyes into his. He has to wake Dean now, before he loses him entirely. “Dean, listen to me. I know you feel like nothing of this is real. I know you thought he was going to come back, I thought it too.” His voice breaks and he swallows his sorrow back, “But he’s gone, Dean. He’s gone for good.”

Dean’s lip trembles and the tears pour down his eyes like waterfalls. His nose runs too, and he sobs like a little child, and Sam feels the weight of his body starting to lean completely on him.

He sighs and takes his hands off Dean’s face before he pulls him near, Dean’s head falling heavily against his collarbone, all his limbs trembling of cold and tiredness and pain.

 

There are sudden, hushed steps in the corridor and their mother’s voice resonates, desperate. “Sam? Dean?” she asks, fear tainting her words and Sam wishes he could answer but no sound wants to come out of his mouth.

Eventually, she finally passes by the room they’re in and stops abruptly when she notices her boys, clutched to each other on the ground. She approaches, frowning, her head still full of cotton and clouds after Lucifer cast his sleep-like magic trick.

At first, she doesn’t understand. She sees them huddled up like frightened children and she thinks they may be so tired of their journey they just collapsed on the floor, too empty and numb to care. Then she hears a little, strangled sob and then her eyes fall upon Castiel, still laying still on his bed, and then she sees the bottle on the ground, emptied of its precious grace. She looks back at her sons and then she sees Sam’s red eyes and the way Dean leans completely against him, how his whole body is shaken by painful waves of sorrow, his fists clenched around handfuls of his brother’s shirt.

“Oh” she says, and her eyes start blinking rapidly, and a great tide starts moving inside of her. “Oh” she repeats in a broken voice and nothing else wants to shape on her lips. It feels like there’s a void starting to swirl inside of her, a hollow nest at the center of her chest. She realizes she lost one of her boys.

And yes, not one who shared her blood, not one she ever saw small and innocent, but one she chose to stitch to her little, broken family. The one who helped her finding her sons, one she knew to be so worried about them he felt sick deep in his belly. One who was so kind and selfless he watched over Kelly and took care of her when no one could, or would.

And now he’s gone, dead and cold in all the horror death represents, and she doesn’t know what’s worse. That he won’t come back, or that she truly believed he would after they carried his grace back to this world.

Her breath feels caught in her lungs and now she can’t take her eyes off Castiel. Why would something so monstrous happen to him? Why would the Universe let him be murdered in such evil way? Because if things were different and he would have died of great age, she would have said it was somehow alright. But he did not let his last breath out when he was asleep. No, he protected Kelly and protected her boys and the only thing he got in return was a blade sharp like teeth piercing across his chest.

Shock swells and unravels like a tongue of fire inside of her, and she thinks she’s going to fall into thick blackness. But then, she hears Dean sniff again and her eyes blink aware, and she realizes there are ones who are suffering a greater pain than hers.

She draws a short breath in and walks to them, before she sits near them and drapes her arms around both her sons, bringing them together so they become one unique creature of grief, mother and children curled up against the same ache, tears mixed in a bitter puddle.

She hums to them as they leave each other’s shoulders to lean on her chest instead. She caresses their heads and tries to soothe them the best she can, and suddenly she doesn’t see two men clutching her arms and sides, but two small beings, shaking and weeping and she can’t help but feel her throat tighten. They don’t deserve that pain and she wishes she could take it all away, prepare them a warm meal and kiss their damp, feverish foreheads to sleep, putting band-aids on their agony.

She just holds them tight against her, tries to ease their swollen hearts, tries to breathe their pain in so it leaves their bodies and is trapped inside hers instead. Sam seems to be calmed by her embrace and he just sits beside her, his head heavy of sleep on her shoulder. His breaths are deeper, quieter and he stays there, bathed in the motherly warmth of her, he starts to accept the truth.

The strangled sobs stopped on Dean’s side too, but unlike his brother, all his body is tense, his fist clenched, his teeth gritting and his anger and sadness boils inside of him, so strong Mary can feel him hot like a furnace against her side. She swallows hardly and she’s not sure she can’t do anything for him.

She knows that all that Sam and Dean had for a while was each other. There were other friends of course, but they’re all gone now. They were alone together, and then suddenly that odd, celestial creature crossed their path and a few years later, he’s a part of them. They belong all to each other, and one of the three is gone, it leaves a void in their small pack.

She knows Sam cared about Cas, and very deeply, but the more she thinks about it, the more she sees Dean’s reaction is way beyond his brother’s. Yes, she did see there was something special between Cas and him, something that breathed of longings and silence and whispers, but she only realized the greatness of it when she saw Dean hunting high and low to bring him back. She hears Dean breathing deep and hard against her collarbone, and it sounds like all his world is covered by ashes now.

 

“It’s my fault” she suddenly hears him say, his voice muffled in her clothes.

She frowns and she comes back to running her hand in his hair, soothing him. “No it’s not. Dean, you know it” she says, and she aches so much to see the tiny child she once held in her belly in such state of despair.

“Yes it is” he insists, and Mary feels Sam moving from her shoulder. When she turns to him, she sees him looking at her, his eyes wide and sad for he knows what’s happening. After the rage comes the pain and after the pain comes the guilt. And that, he knows, will finish to destroy Dean. “I had to keep him warm and safe and I failed...” this one says and when the turns his head, his features are twisted of pure, raw suffering.

“Maybe it wasn’t that” Mary gently says, stroking his hair, and her mind races. Weeks, months will pass and she’ll have to find something – anything – to keep Dean’s mind off these dreadful emotions that seem to swallow him whole. “Something else happened and it wasn’t because of you.”

“Then how do you explain he’s still dead!?” Dean says in a whisper that’s so full of rage it sounds like a scream, the kind that would send shivers down your spine.

Mary flinches at first, not knowing what to do, before she cools her body again and she tries to speak calmly, gently. “Jack told me angels were very complex beings. We barely understand other humans, so how could we understand how creatures like them work? Something happened, but it wasn’t your fault, and even if it was, the most important thing is that you _tried_.”

Dean stays silent for a moment, before he has a long, shaking sigh. “Then why do I feel like it wasn’t enough?”

Mary doesn’t answer, just has a small smile against his hair before she puts a kiss on the top of his head, and she realizes with shock she feels like their mother, their real mother for the first time. Yes, she knew they were her sons, and she felt that mystical pull in her stomach making her worry and ache and laugh for them, but now she truly feels whole. Strength flows fast in her blood and she feels like a whole new being. Nothing will hurt his little boys, not ever again.

 

With Sam’s help, she gets Dean up and makes him walk away from Cas’ room to the kitchen. Sam can’t help but be confused. He thought he’d had to drag him away, and that there would be kicks and screams, and violence in Dean’s eyes. But instead, it’s something much more frightening.

Dean follows them like an obedient pet, he sits when Mary tells him to. He tries to eat a little when she puts a sandwich in front of him and as Sam nibbles his, his heart freezes when he sees how empty, how _dead_ Dean’s eyes are now. He has just accepted the truth, there won’t be any more tears. They will come back in the future, Sam knows that, but for now Dean’s just torn apart, dried up like a land with never ending wars. He eats and he breathes and he blinks, but there’s nothing left inside.

Dean feels his stare on him but he says nothing. He keeps fighting against the terrible feeling pulling him to Cas’ room and all he wants to do is fall on his knees near his bed and spend all night here, hoping he might wake, even if he hates himself for being so naive.

Sam and Mary talks about burying and burning and he hears bones rotting and flesh melting, and the nausea shakes even harder in his stomach. He knows he’ll have to attend a funeral soon, for Cas is no longer fueled by grace. He’s just a body now, and bodies decay, and bodies disappear. He doesn’t even want to imagine the dirt falling in heaps on his closed eyelids or the flames licking his gentle hands, and suddenly his mouth feels heavy and he feels the blackness closing in.

Sam put the dishes in the sink before he takes Dean in another room to take care of his wounds. Dean hears him talk to him, all soft and warm and gentle, and it soothes him a little. Sam gives him a desperate hug, before he walks to his bedroom, head held low. Mary then takes Dean in her arms and he closes his eyes in the embrace, trying to find a little spark, a little life in it. And suddenly he’s left alone in his room, the warm glow from the lamp on his nightstand the only light around.

He doesn’t even have the courage to take a shower or change his clothes, he just drops on the bed, before he curls on one side, and his eyes are wide open in the dark, and he lets the static and shadows flow inside of him. His pain feels shallow. It’s in the light waters lapping in his heart, way too close to the surface of his chest, and it hurts, it hurts so bad he has to bite his tongue not to scream.

He rolls on his back and he observes the blackness. Such strange thing, to imagine the future and with every pictures that your mind creates, you have to take a detail out of it, because your brain puts it there, every time.

He imagines their next hunt, and he has to take Cas out of the vision, for he’s still standing close to him, angel blade gripped tight in his hand. He imagines all his family having a meal together, with true, bright explosions of laughter, and Cas isn’t sitting beside him. He imagines all the next weeks, months, _years_ and he winces every time he sees the hollow space in the photographs, swirling black and acid as one person is missing, always missing.

He didn’t realize tears started to burst again until he feels them rolling hot and heavy down his neck. He has a deep sigh and he clutches the bed sheets to keep sobs hard like stones from escaping his mouth. He closes his eyes and he fights against sleep for a moment, before he feels too weak, too numb to even think about battling it. He falls into blackness with salty waters still dripping from his chin and one question haunting his mind.

 

 _How is he even going to get through_ _this?_

 

**X**

 

Dean stands in the cold without a word. He stares at that heap of soil, the shadows the trees cast on it and he shudders. Not because of the brutal wind or the tiredness that numbs all his bones, but because under that soil and roots and fallen leaves, Cas now lays.

 

This morning was probably the most awful and gut-wrenching he ever had to face. He was awakened by Sam’s gentle voice, telling him he had slept until the afternoon and that now, they couldn’t keep Cas’ body anymore. Letting it breathe in the open in hope he’d suddenly wake felt like a disgrace, a monstrous thing they couldn’t do to Cas, and to themselves.

And then Sam told him he had worked on a small coffin all night long, as he couldn’t find sleep at all, and from that moment Dean fell into a feverish state of emptiness. He simply nodded and got up. He followed Sam and this one showed him a spot among the woods surrounding the bunker, a secret, hidden place, a last shelter, a last temple made of leaves and ferns, made to welcome gods and angels in its arms.

Dean nodded again and together they began to dig in the earth that was damp and soft after the rain and thunder that filled the night before. Dean felt a pang in his heart every time his shovel disappeared in the ground, as each hit was bringing Cas closer to the grave. He felt Sam’s glances on him, worried and sad and apologetic, but he ignored him and kept on digging. The sooner he’d accept the situation, the sooner he’d feel better.

That’s what he told himself. That if he dug until his arms felt sore and his belly hollow and his breaths short, the pain would go away and he would stop feeling what’s swirling in his chest.

But it didn’t. It was still here, when he climbed out of the hole they made and he observed the warm darkness inside of it, the worms and dew and nothingness. It became even worse, close to agony when Mary arrived and gave both of them a glass filled with water and his hands were shaking so much he spilled half of it on the ground, as if he was already watering the grass that would cover Cas’ grave one day.

 

And then it was as if his brain closed its eyes and let all the insanity flow in his body. Sam brought Cas, holding him in his arms and he was white and stiff and silent, and when he approached him from the coffin, Dean turned away and barely had the time to run deep enough into the woods before he fell down on his knees and threw up everything that was in his stomach. The watery liquid fell from his mouth into a puddle and it flowed among the vegetation, seeped into the earth. He stayed a moment like this, legs diving in the cold mud, his head bowed as he was shaken by more waves of nausea and he kept on spitting until it became red and thick and he moved away, disgusted by his own body.

He leaned his head against the cool trunk of a tree and he closed his eyes, wiping his wet lips with his forearm. Behind his fluttering lashes it was a whole circus of horrors, visions coming like the tide, carrying a stench of death so strong he felt it in the bridges of his nose. All he could see was Cas dead, Cas lifeless, Cas gone.

And he didn’t understand why it felt so hard. He had seen dead bodies before, so many it became frighteningly normal. Hell, he even saw his own brother dead! So why did it feel so repulsive, so monstrous it made him spill his guts on the ground? Why couldn’t he even bear the sight of Cas and stand by him until the very last moment?

And with a heavy sob, he realizes he knows why. Seeing Cas motionless on his bed was painful, but he didn’t even begin to imagine what it meant. But now, he understands, now he aches because they’re putting him in the ground like a vulgar animal.

He always thought that if Cas would go, it’d be in the bright flash of light and then he’d be just gone, and all that would remain would be thin, silvery ashes floating in the air. He doesn’t know why his mind created this fantasy, but he never thought there would be a body to take care of.

Because a body means you’re bound to reality, to this world and that you shall turn to dust one day or another. A body means decaying and rotting and being covered by worms and moths and vultures. And he just couldn’t picture Cas this way.

No, he imagined his ashes falling on the ground and a whole galaxy bursting at their touch, with turquoise waters and bright green lands and golden suns and silver moons. Just anything but Death as it really is.

 

Sam finally came to him a few moments later, and Dean just knew he waited on purpose. He knelt beside him and just said “It’s over, Dean”, and it was over.

He walked him back home and Dean refused to see the grave, and God knows how guilty and awful it made him feel, but he just couldn’t. He just couldn’t look at that dirt and that slender cross Sam put to mark the tomb, and imagine Cas underneath it. The simple thought of it made shivers run down his spine and he felt more liquid bubbling in his throat, ready to spill out of him.

 

From that moment, there were two types of days: the bad ones, and the ones that were worse than that.

On a bad day, Dean would get up and grab a cup of steaming coffee as usual, and he would sit next to Sam, checking on the recent cases. There weren’t many of them at the moment, and they guessed the monsters still believed the British Men of Letters were hunting them down, slaughtering them by dozens at the same time. So he would just wander in the bunker instead, grabbing a book or just staying on his laptop all day long. He even went out a few times, when the pain let him a little space to breathe.

And then there were the worse days. Mornings where he would feel so sick to the pit of his guts he couldn’t get up at first, paralyzed. He wouldn’t sleep at night and when he finally would, exhausted and empty, he’d wake up of bloody, disturbing nightmares occupied by worms and moths and he’d see Cas with his white skin and half eaten wings, and he would see his flesh drip from his bones and his blood and grace fall drop by drop on the ground, coming to water the ferns starting to grow on his coffin.

Dean would jolt awake and run to the bathroom, falling on his knees and the disgust and agony would twist his belly until there was nothing left inside of it. Sometimes, he’d even spend the entire night there, just waiting for the waves of nausea to stop and he would wake on the cold floor, the acid taste of vomit still strong in his mouth, and his back and hair would be soaked in hot sweat and the only thing he could do was get into the shower and stay under the glacial water for long, very long minutes until he didn’t feel like crawling in his own skin any longer.

His reflection in the mirror would make him stop when he passed by, and his heart would miss a beat at the purple circles under his eyes, the shadows spreading around his mouth and cheeks, itching and making his face bony and dark, and he realized he started looking like a ghost. A ghost that suffers and cries and throws up on the floor at impossible hours of the night.

Sam was worried and Mary was too, but no matter what they did, nothing worked. When the worse days arrived, they could only try to ease the pain a little. Mary began to learn how to cook, putting stews and warm meat in front of her boys, and she couldn’t help but feel pride for herself, and Dean even gave her timid smiles sometimes, but she wasn’t blind. She saw the way his movements were stiff, and he’d be twitchy, and he couldn’t follow a conversation for more than two minutes. But the worst was his eyes. His eyes that used to be so bright and malicious and just alive, turned dull, and his stare would often get lost into space, barely blinking.

 

When the worse days arrived, there was nothing they could do but wait for the bad days to come back.

 

The worst for Dean was probably the absence of any physical memory. He had no picture, no belongings he could hold onto, grasp tight in his palm at night. He had nothing that could make him remember Cas, but his own mind that was already torn to pieces.

A bad day turned worse when he finally had the courage the get into Cas’ room. Why? He had no idea, for he knew there was nothing in that room. Yet, he noticed a half open drawer when he was running his fingertips on the furniture and his eyes fell upon a tape at the bottom of it. Puzzled, he opened the drawer entirely and took the small object in his hand, before he saw a piece of paper folded near it. He felt somehow bad for invading Cas’ privacy but his curiosity was so desperate he couldn’t help himself.

On the little piece of paper Cas had written several things, and it took Dean some time to realize it was songs. It was a list of songs, some written in bold letters, others crossed out, others followed by question marks. There were titles he knew, others he didn’t, and some of them were so sorrowful he felt a pang in his heart. Though he didn’t understand why Cas would make a list of songs until he saw the title at the top of the paper, neatly underlined in Cas’ small, elegant handwriting.

 

For Dean.

 

Dean felt sick again and hastily put the tape and paper back where he found them, before he left the room to never come back in it. Cas had meant to give him a gift in return, and maybe he would have hurried to do it if he knew what would happen to him a few weeks after. But he didn’t, and now Dean is left with another unfinished part of him.

 

He didn’t go to his grave, either.

It burnt his chest to act this way, and he felt so wrong and childish, but he just couldn’t. Not that he didn’t want to, not that he didn’t long for some connection, anything, to make him think of Cas again, to feel their bond tense like a rope between them, despite the dirt and root separating them.

He didn’t come to see him until today. Sam and Mary wanted to go out to do some grocery shopping, but he suggested he’d go instead, on his own. They seemed unsure but he smiled at them, pretending he was alright and he just needed some fresh air and suddenly they had a sigh of relief, and he somehow felt better to see them without the burden of him on their shoulders.

He was coming back from the supermarket with bags full and heavy in his hands when he passed by a flower shop. The day was gloomy and suffocating as a storm began to shape above the city, but the flowers were uncannily bright. He felt strangely drawn to it and before he could think, he had put the bags down in the car and his fingers had landed on small, vivid blue flowers looking like the wild ones that grow into the forest.

He held back a sob when the florist commented on how lucky the person the flowers were destined to was. He just gave her a smile instead and drove back home, black oil lapping in his ears and eyes. He put all the bags in the kitchen before he came back to the car, grabbed the flowers and took a deep breath. He started walking among the woods and he felt so silly, the bouquet so soft and odd in his dirty palms.

And then he gritted his teeth, because a grave was a grave, and graves needed flowers, and if he couldn’t shake his self-consciousness now, then he didn’t know when he would.

He walked to the grave, each of his steps slow and careful, as if he could shatter the soft peace around, with the sunshine and tree shadows and slight breeze. He didn’t want to see the tomb, he wished it didn’t even exist, and yet there was a feeling pulling him to it, and he knew that he had to overcome the pain, otherwise he’d never be able to face it.

When he arrived, he was stunned by how the grass and moss grew over the dirt they turned around, and he wondered if it was not a little odd that it spread so fast. And then, he realized he had no idea how much time passed since Cas died. Their trip to the alternate dimension already felt blurry and faded like an old photograph.

 

Here he is now, staring at that heap of soil and ferns. He has a long sigh and gently kneels in front of the grave, and he feels all blue inside, as if a knife had open a wound that was barely starting to heal. It feels like a hand reached to his chest and tore it open, spilling all the ocean from his lungs. A choked sound begins to shape in his throat but he hastily swallows it back, not wanting to disturb Cas and the woods around.

He puts the flowers down and moves back. They look as if they truly belonged to the forest, wild but discreet, the pale blue petals in their right place under the shadow of the cross. Dean feels a smile beginning to spill on his lips but a sudden pain in his lungs and mouth and eyes makes it fade in a second.

He realizes he misses Cas. Terribly. Not in the way he missed him when he was away, when he was disappearing to work alone. No, it’s like a void swirling in his stomach, a hollow space in his arms. He misses seeing him in the bunker and he misses hearing him speak with his low, calm voice. He misses the gentle yet powerful aura he seemed to carry everywhere, and he misses each of the sorrowful looks the angel ever gave him.

All he wants is to grab his shoulders and pull him close, feel him breathe against him, though he’d be happy with just the sight of him if that was everything that was given to him.

He stares at the tomb and he wants to say something, pay a last homage to him. But no words want to come out, and he just doesn’t know what he could say. Cas is not there, his wide blue eyes are not staring at him, and so he has no more anchor in this world that became gray and dull and silent. He feels so vulnerable and helpless, here, down on his knees with just a handful of tiny flowers to express how much he suffers. His lips are dry, his throat tight and his lungs feel like they’re licked by flames. Yet all his being feels cold, filled with water, trembling inside of him.

 

And then an idea comes to his mind, and he thinks that he doesn’t have to say a word, he doesn’t need to shape sounds and melodies in his mouth to speak.

 

He closes his eyes and begins to pray. He’s unsure at first, as he didn’t pray for a while, so used to have Cas near him, and not even sure he was still hearing him. But a few seconds after, the calm settles around and inside of him and he suddenly feels so peaceful, surrounded by the trees and beams of light piercing through his eyelids. He takes a deep breath and now it’s easier. It all flows through him, and there’s no lung, no tongue to stop his mind from speaking.

He knows Cas can’t hear him, but it strangely soothes him. This way, he can spill everything that weighed down on his heart, everything he always wanted to say but always felt too ashamed or terrified to do it.

 

Now he tells Cas how heavy his absence feels, how it crushes his heart and makes his fingers numb and frozen, and his limbs shaking, his eyes constantly damp and burning. He tells Cas how guilty he feels for not trying harder when Sam made him step back from the alternate world, how visions of him grasping Cas’ sleeve before Lucifer can hurt him haunt him every night. He tells him about the nightmares, the ones full of blood and worms, and the one full of tears and bitter longings.

He tells him about all the regret he feels, flowing rapidly in his body, and the ache that sometimes makes him unable to breathe. He tells him about the constant sea shaking in his belly, coming in waves, stronger during the worse days, breaking brutally against his bones, making him feel like he’s drowning.

He tells him how acid the pain feels when he thinks of what might have happened if he had decided to make the first step. If he had reached out to him and began to take care of him, no matter if the feelings probably weren’t the same for an angel like him. He bites his tongue and tells him about the chilly sunrises and the gold drenched sunsets he wished he had passed with him. He tells him about the hot coffee and small backyard and view on the ocean, and his fingers tied with his, and once again he thinks that it would have only happened if Cas felt the same.

It doesn’t matter, he prays, because he could have kept his inner fire for himself and he still would have watched over him and he would have kept him as close as possible. He has a sob and apologizes for understanding Cas was feeling down recently, but not that he was so desperate he put his life in danger, because it wasn’t worth anything anymore. He apologizes for being so rough and rude and mean sometimes, for acting cold and careless and never take a moment to talk, to let Cas know he is there.

He has a sad, strangled laugh and tells him that he thought about grabbing his face and kiss his mouth if he ever woke up, but now it’s too late and he's left with a swirling void in his palms.

 

He promises to come back as much as he can, and that now he won’t leave him alone, no matter if he can’t fix what he broke. He lets a long sigh out and his eyes flutter open, and suddenly he feels something that he thought was gone.

He feels good. Not sunshine, honey and turquoise water kind of good, but rather a soft emptiness spreading its feathery wings inside of him, brushing against his sore bones. He feels lighter, as if a weight had been pulled out of his chest. Maybe it’s the words that he finally set free.

He gets up and stares at the grave for a few seconds, letting himself breathe deep and calm among the scented trees. He then puts his fingertips on the cross, warm skin against the cool wood. He feels like a little of his sorrow and a lot of his recently-found joy flows into the soil at this very touch, but it doesn’t matter.

He rips himself from the last link he’ll have with Cas for the rest of his days, before he steps back and walks away, his heart both grieving and glowing in an odd, shapeless emotion.

 

Days continue to pass after this one, and there are bad ones, and there are worse ones. There are still sleepless nights and nightmares and mornings where he barely has the strength to get up. Nothing has changed, except that Dean now has a small door to escape when the ocean gets too heavy and torturous inside of him: he prays.

Discreetly, when he drinks his coffee on the morning and he has to bite his tongue not to break down in front of Sam and Mary, on the afternoon when they finally are on a hunt and he has to focus and not let the water swallow him. And more often, during the night, when he lays awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It’s not really like talking to Cas, rather turning the flow of some of his thoughts to him.

Sometimes it’s just after a strong blow of sadness and he has to hold on the memories he has of Cas not to fall apart. So he just grasps one and plays it again like an old tape, and he thinks of Cas, and he somehow makes these images fly to his grave. Sometimes he doesn’t even do it willingly: he just sees a church, a feather or the wide blue sky and he thinks of Cas, and suddenly he finds himself praying about him, to him, for him, he doesn’t really know.

Sometimes his dreams are softer, in the way bittersweet has a side that is not cruel. He dreams of the water, and he dreams of Cas, his face, eyes and lashes and he dreams of tangling their fingers together. And then Cas has a sad smile and he just fades away, just like a handful of sand, blown away by the wind. Dean wakes up from these dreams with a heart balanced between bliss and sorrow. Yes, Cas disappears in them, and he’s still not there, but he had the chance to get a glimpse of him, to make a new memory of him, one that he takes and carefully folds in his mind.

 

He makes sure to change the flowers on Cas’ grave too. Sometimes his mind is taken away by hunts and when he comes back to the tomb and sees they’re all dried, he feels a pang of guilt in his heart and immediately goes out to buy new ones. Their colors change, but they’re very often blue or white or soft orange, because they remind him of Cas in some strange, inexplicable way.

Sam knows about the flowers, but he doesn’t talk about it. Instead, more come to join Dean’s from time to time, as well with their mother’s ones. The brothers both discover a new side of her as she wanders for long moments in the woods and fields and comes back with big bouquets of wild flowers and gently puts them on Cas’ grave. It seems to be her way to deal with loss, her own door to escape grief.

Dean keeps on praying, and it helps him in his worst moments. He is still devoured by sorrow, but he became better at hiding it from Mary and Sam, and himself. His brother and mother seem to worry less about him and they seem to start living normally again, now that they don’t see him with eyes empty and breaths shallow anymore. He knows they’re still grieving, he sees it in Mary when she keeps on searching a third silhouette between her boys, and he sees it in Sam when he’s about to call both him and Cas to join them on a hunt.

 

He tries not to give them more worries, and focuses on his own instead. For example, this sharp pain that sometimes stings him in his left shoulder. After a while, he noticed it’s always there, humming under his skin and only getting hot and overwhelming when he is praying. He tried to stand in front of the mirror and rolled up his sleeve, but there was nothing. No wound, no bruise, no handprint like the one he once bore. So he winces and gets a cold shower, trying to ease the blazing sensation.

He tried to stop praying for an hour or two, and as expected, his shoulder stopped hurting. But he soon felt sick and gloomier than ever, to let Cas down once again just for his own sake. So he keeps on praying and he tells himself that maybe, he deserves that pain. For not taking care of Cas, for not looking after him, for not deserving him.

Sam noticed it, when he saw his brother wince and rub his shoulder, his features visibly distorted by ache. He started to worry and asked him about it, but Dean brushed it away, pretending with a laugh that a hunt just left him a little sore.

But to be honest with himself, it worries Dean too. He begins to wonder if there’s a sickness under his skin. Or maybe a punishment as he was unable to save Cas. Or maybe it’s just a heart-wrenching reminder of the angel, and maybe this pain will never leave him and will only fade when he’ll die.

 

Today he brings blue flowers to Cas. He sits in front of his grave as usual and begins to pray, making thoughts and words and pictures flow to the angel’s body. His shoulder begins to itch, slowly starts to hum like an engine, but he shuts his eyes tighter and ignores the burning feeling of it, spreading in his whole arm.

He tells Cas that today is one of the worse days. That he woke up gasping for air, his body covered of hot sweat after one of those black, bloody nightmares where Cas died a thousand times in his arms. He tells him that he drowned the sobs in a burning shower, dried his heart entirely but when Sam told him about a new case, he felt all his strength going away. He realizes he’s made a mistake, a step aside that might worry Sam, as he told him he needed some time to rest and he’d catch up with them if he wanted him to.

He watched his brother and mother drive away, and soon as they were gone, he went to get the flowers and walked to the grave. Now he’s here, and today feels oddly harder to bear, as if each second was sandpaper against his chest. Maybe it’s just a really bad day, or maybe it’s because he realized it had been a month since Cas died.

A _month_. Nothing in a human’s life, even less in an angel’s life, and yet it feels like centuries. He realizes with a shallow breath that he starts to forget some details about Cas, and he starts to forget what’s like to have him near, while suffering in all ways possible of his absence. Today is a day where the tears pour out as he prays, and they fall on the already damp earth.

He tells him that he misses him and loves him with such despair it feels like a forest fire. Maybe he should have said he lov _ed_ him, as there’s nothing alive left to love in this very moment, but he feels like it’s never going to stop. That no matter how many years will pass, he’ll still feel that red ocean inside of him, and every blue sky and every cloud and every feather will make him ache in his very core.

 

He realizes his shoulder hurt more than usual, so hard he winces and lands his palm on it, trying to ease the pulsing sensation, like a glow alive and cruel under his skin. He says good bye to Cas and lets his fingers brush against the grave, before he gets up and walks back to the bunker.

He tries to keep himself busy all morning, cleaning or reading or staying on his laptop, anything but letting himself drift into silence or worse, fall asleep.

He’s exhausted, his eyelids fluttering like butterflies’ wings and he fights against the sensation, clenching his fists, swallowing another cup of black coffee, but nothing works. He supposes that with all the ache and anger and sleepless nights, his body is starting to become a weight he has to carry each day. Sometimes, it just wants everything to be over, and then he’s horrified by his own thoughts, before he considers it again.

He just wishes he could end it all, or rather walk back in time and bring both Cas and the balance of his world back. But he can’t, and so the acid flows wild in his veins, and he surrenders. He crosses his arms and buries his sore, heavy head on them, and he has a small sigh of relief as his eyes close and he starts to fall in soft blackness.

And then there’s a vivid blow of pain in his shoulder and he jolts awake, immediately grabbing it with distraught fingers. It’s nothing like he ever felt before, not even like this morning when he came to the grave. It’s burning and cold, swirling and dancing and shouting under his skin, as if a beast was devouring him from the inside, taking little but vicious bites of his shoulder, fangs diving deep into the flesh. He sees red all around him and then he sees white-blue light. His breaths are short and his heartbeats rapid and painful, and his fingertips are aching. It feels like there’s thick lava flowing in his veins and he clenches his jaw, shutting his eyes tight as he tries to push all the pain back.

And then it’s gone.

Entirely gone, not even a little buzzing under his flesh. He opens his eyes again, puzzled and touches his shoulder with the tip of a finger, but it’s numb, back to normal. He blinks a few times, and suddenly the sleepy fog is back and his eyelids are heavy again. He’d almost groan of annoyance, but he’s too tired for that. He just puts his head back into his arms and his lashes come to flutter on his cheeks. He takes sleep like a pill of poison, both sweet and torturous.

 

He’s awaken when he hears the entrance door open with a creaking. He hastily wipes the tears that rolled down his cheeks while he slept and walks to the corridor, peeking outside his room.

“Sam?” he shouts, and he’s confused. He shouldn’t have come home so soon: the location of the hunt is one or two hours away if Dean remembers well, and even if it was closer, he doesn’t think they would have had the time to find the creature in such short amount of time. “Mom?” he tries now, frowning of worry.

There’s no answer. His eyes darken and suddenly he’s fully alert, and he steps back to his room to grab a gun. No answer means someone else entered the bunker. Maybe a cunning monster, maybe another bunch of joyful lunatics who want to spill their hunter blood on the ground.

He clenches his jaw and walks down the corridor, pace slow and precise, his gun held tight in his hands. He stops at the entrance of the library, listening carefully. There seems to be no sound, no breath or loud steps betraying whoever broke into his home. He enters the room in silence, his eyes narrowing, and he remembers the demons of the alternate world. No matter who – or what – is currently hiding from him, he thinks he’s ready to face it. He just hopes his body isn’t too weakened.

 

He arrives in the war room and suddenly a silhouette moves in the corner of his eye. He turns in a swift move, his gun raised and ready to shoot.

 

And then his heart stops, his breathing stops, his mind stops, and his weapon tumbles down from his fingers, and everything is black around and inside him.

No monster and no insane man entered the bunker, but the vision standing in front of him is a hundred, a thousand times more frightening and beautiful and it twists his guts into a knot, takes his brain in claws of steel.

“Dean?” he hears a voice asks, and it’s strangled by a sob, heavy and thick as if it had not be used for a while. It’s low and melodious and so, so terribly familiar.

He feels his consciousness slipping away from him. He takes a raspy breath in, and he thinks his mind is playing tricks to him, that his eyes are foolish and hopeful and mad. He thinks, _that’s it_ , he’s losing his mind, he has reached the climax, the last step before going insane.

His mind gets full of static and he’s frozen, and he can’t move and he can’t speak. He just stares at the apparition like it’s smoke, like it’s going to disappear if he ever dares to blink, and he feels like drowning, he feels like sinking to the bottom of the deepest ocean.

 

Because in front of him, there’s a person he never thought he’d see again, and it’s his heart and his mind and his soul. It’s two bright blue eyes becoming glassy, and it’s a mouth half open of shock, and it’s a tan coat stained by the soft earth of the woods. It’s flesh and bones, muscles and blood, and it’s honey and milk with a spoon of stardust.

It’s Cas staring at him as both their breaths are caught in their lungs like moths and fireflies in the water.

 


	6. Like The Dawn I Rise

Silence spreads its wide wings in the room. There’s no sound, no breath to trouble it, just a plain nothingness where one could hear the spinning of the earth and the ticking of time.

Dean stares at Cas and his eyes are cloudy, and big salty drops run down his cheeks, drip from his chin and he’s shivering violently, as if he was suddenly frozen to the core. He refuses to believe what he sees, he can’t, this can’t be true, he knows the Universe is too cruel for this. His heart beats fast behind his ribs and he aches, Dear, he aches so bad he thinks his body is going to break in two, letting the pain flow from him like gold from a shattered statue.

He stares at Cas and with each second that pass, he feels stranger, both hopeful and bright and shouting, and hurting and screaming and crumbling. His lashes flutter quickly to chase the tears away and he sees the dark hair that is messy and covered of soft moss and tiny branches, and he sees the tan coat, stained in dirt and roots and grass, and he sees the gentle face that haunted all his dreams for a month, and most of all these goddamn blue eyes that stare back at him, all wide and damp of shock.

Dean wishes he could speak, he wishes he could make a step to him but he can’t. He’s petrified and he can only swallow his sobs back to keep the sea away, otherwise he’d be overflowing now. Yes, spilling like a tiny bottle that was holding an entire ocean. He feels somber and he feels glowing, he feels like both darkness and light and he wishes he could explain this feeling, but every time the words shape on his tongue, they are still too vague, too useless to express how devastated he feels in this moment.

 

Cas doesn’t move either. His breathing is rapid, heavy, his blood and grace flowing loudly in his veins, thundering in his head, shouting. He feels so incredibly tired, and stained, and unholy and all he wants is to collapse. But he thought the bunker would be empty and he could just sit and rest until the rest of his family would come back from the hunt they were probably in.

But never did he think that someone would be there, and even less Dean. Dean that looks stunned, all his limbs stiff, his face white, his eyes wide and red and shiny. Cas realizes with a shock so violent it freezes him entirely that Dean’s _crying_. Not just some small, bubbling tears in his eyes, the ones that come when he’s angry or frustrated, but real trails of salty water intertwined on his face.

He thinks that Dean wasn’t crying when he arrived in the room, and he thinks that maybe these tears are for him. And then he bites his tongue and tries to convince himself it’s probably something else. That Dean would never shed them for him, that maybe his absence felt strange but not painful, not heavy and crushing.

Yet when he looks at Dean’s broken expression, and the way his hands are white-knuckled and clenched into fists on his sides and how his body shakes like a terrified little animal, Cas feels a pang of worry in his chest and he wishes he could walk to him and heal him and just make his pain stop.

But he’s frozen and all his body hurts, and his heart aches, and he feels like he could turn into diamond dust the next second. He smells the stench of the earth all around and inside him, as if the soil and plants had flowed into his body and leaves had curled around his bones, and roses had bloomed among his lungs and stomach. He feels like he became a creature of the ground himself.

He feels dizzy and lost and he doesn’t know what’s like to be alive anymore. It was easier to lay under the earth than to bear the weight of existence every day. It was less painful than to look at Dean and feel all his being fluttering of emotion, all grief and pain and adoration mixed together in a color so bright it blinds him.

 

The fog that fell on his mind is suddenly lifted when he hears his name in Dean’s mouth. God, he forgot how it sounded on his tongue, the single syllable sharp like a knife behind his teeth, yet warm and round and dripping like honey. He raises his eyes to see Dean’s falling on what he’s holding in his hand.

Cas remembers the precious little things he’s clutching in his shaking palm and his heart starts beating again. He raises the small blue flowers to look at them again, and his grace has a gentle blow inside of him, as his eyes sadden, blue like the tide under the rain.

“I’m sorry” he finally murmurs, staring at the flowers that are crushed and rumpled in his careless palm. He tried to keep them safe, he tried not to break them when he pulled himself out of his grave. He saw the little blossoms and he couldn’t move, just hold onto them as the wind blew cold and cruel. “I didn’t want to damage them, I-” he says and suddenly his voice is cut by a heavy sob and more come to shape in his throat, “I’m sorry Dean, that’s not what I wanted, I-”

 

The flow of his words is brutally stopped when Dean crosses the room and suddenly collapses against him, so strong and so desperate it makes Cas have a few steps back. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, his heart starts roaring behind his ribs, loud and crashing like thunder, as if it understood before him. And then he blinks, and he _feels_.

He feels Dean’s arms wrapped around his waist, holding him so tight he lifts him off his feet. Cas’ arms are first folded between them, before they come to surround Dean’s shoulders, and suddenly he feels everything as if the world had just started turning again and he was in his right place, in the right moment.

His chest is so close to Dean’s he feels his heart thrumming like a war drum against his skin, and he feels how feverish his cheek is against his, and he feels his tears falling one by one on his collarbone, flowing hot and soft to his heart. He feels Dean’s body shaking as if he was cold and terrified, and he feels his hands gripping his back firmly, and he feels him burying his face against him, hiding this waterfall of emotion in the warmth of him.

Cas feels like falling. He wraps his arms tighter around Dean and he leans his cheek against his shoulder, closing his eyes and letting all the darkness enfold him. He doesn’t know why but a smile spreads on his lip, even if it’s broken and shaken by sobs, all his features relaxing as he settles against Dean, finding the core of his soul and making his nest inside it. He moves his face to bury it in Dean’s bones, having a sigh of ease, and suddenly the tears pour out and he can’t stop them.

They fall by dozens, and then hundreds and Dean’s t-shirt is soon soaked in liquid grace, and Cas feels so silly, but he keeps clutching his back, and he breathes deep into the fabric of his clothes, and he’s home. He’s home for all his head is filled with leather and wood and forest ground and fire. He always told himself to keep his feelings inside, but now he just can’t and he holds on Dean as much as he can, and his heart misses a beat when he realizes how intensely Dean is holding him in return.

“Tell me this is real” he suddenly hears Dean say, his voice muffled against his shoulder, his hot breaths tickling his neck. “Please, tell me I’m not dreaming this” he says and Cas can hear the shaking in his words, and how desperate Dean is as he pronounces them.

Cas has a sob, one he couldn’t hold back as he presses Dean closer to him, as if he was trying to collapse against him, making them one again. “This is real” he whispers in return before he lets out a sigh of relief, for he’s alive and he’s well, and so is Dean.

This one has a sound between a chocked laugh and a sob and he rips himself from the embrace, very unwillingly, fighting against all his instincts. But his hands don’t leave Cas: on the contrary, they flutter to frame his face and he stares at him, breathless.

“How?” he asks, shaking his head of disbelief, and he fears Cas will burst into ashes between his sinner’s hands. “How did you come back?”

Cas barely dares to move, his heart silent as he realizes how close Dean is to him, and how desperate and worried his eyes are, how bright they are, how much he missed the warmth of them. He has a smile strangled by tears he tries to blink away. “I will tell you everything, I promise” he says, “But I don’t feel well, I-”

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks, his fingertips diving in his soft hair, his eyes sounding his as if he could find the illness at the bottom of these two lakes.

Cas has a little, gentle laugh in front of Dean’s worry. His heart is too full of love, and he doesn’t know how to react in front of such tenderness and attention from the hunter. “Nothing serious” he reassures him, before he feels a twist in his stomach, faint yet unpleasant, “I feel…. _Hungry”_ he says, frowning, “It makes me dizzy.”

Dean frowns too but it doesn’t ask any further. He steps back and wipes his tears on his sleeve, before he has a grin so full of sunshine Cas feels his grace sinking into his body. “That, I can fix” he says, and his eyes suddenly seem to shine, to glow as if fueled by holy fire, “C’mon” he adds, and to Cas’ greatest surprise, his hand finds his and he grips it gently before he walks him to the kitchen.

 

Cas feels each of his fingertips burning on his skin, and he feels the way Dean’s palm fits uncannily well with his, how the hold is both tender and reassuring, and strong and desperate.

 

They arrive in the kitchen and Dean makes him sit so gently Cas thinks the tears are going to burst once again out of him. He feels so cold and empty and broken a little touch could destroy him at any moment. Dean shows him a can of soup, raising an eyebrow. Cas only nods, too tired to even bother.

As the food gets warm, Dean comes to sit near him, and Cas’ breath gets caught in his lungs. Dean is very close, closer than he ever was, his forearm brushing against Cas’. And his eyes, God, they hold the same gaze Cas once caught in Sam’s when he was looking at the stars.

Dean is looking at him as if he was a tiny dot in the night sky, a being entirely made of light, so wonderful yet so far away. Yes, that’s it, Dean’s looking at him as if he was the brightest part of his world, yet one he couldn’t touch, or hold or protect.

“What happened to you?” Dean suddenly asks, and his voice makes Cas shiver, for it’s just a broken, strangled whisper and he sees Dean tries to swallow his tears back as much as he can. “Did God bring you back?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t him” he says, and he lowers his head to look at the table, and slumber is calling him with its soft, singing voice.

“Then what did?” Dean asks, stunned. “Because you were gone, I can tell you that.” He has a pause, and Cas sees the heavy breath he takes shaking his whole chest. “You were _dead_...”

“I know” Cas gently answers. “I remember coming back to the bunker with you, and I was alive, and then I wasn’t.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. “Wait, do you remember the alternate world?”

A thin, amused smile spreads on Cas’ lips. “Yes, I do. I was aware of all my surroundings” he says, before his eyes suddenly darken, as if the night had fallen on his mind, and he dives them into Dean’s, “You shouldn’t have come for me. It was reckless.”

Dean frowns. “What was I supposed to do? Leave you there?” he asks, and his heart misses a beat at the very thought of it.

“Yes” Cas softly answers, and Lord, how Dean missed his sorrowful eyes.

Dean has a bitter scoff. “That was not gonna happen” he says, and all his being breathes of fear and grief, and it unsettles Cas.

“Why not?” he asks, his grace heavy as a stone inside him.

Dean’s lip trembles and he bites his tongue. He thinks for a second. “I was a mess, Cas” he finally says and the angel looks at him in shock. “I was a real mess, it was really ugly, alright?” he says and fury and agony swirls in his irises as he keeps fighting those hot tears back. “But you wouldn’t know, it’s not like you could have heard me or anything” he says, the end of his sentence dying in a whisper as he lowers his head, wincing of pain.

Cas looks at him, his heart thundering behind his ribs. “I did” he says and Dean’s eyes fall back on him, wide open of astonishment, “I did hear you”

Dean draws a small, shaking breath in.“What?” he blurts, and suddenly a wave of heat spreads over his heart and he clenches his fists, for his fingertips burn to grasp Cas arm and chest and face.

“I didn’t hear what you said” Cas says, sending both a tide of relief and disappointment inside Dean, “But I felt it.” He frowns, his eyes briefly getting lost into space as if he was trying to remember the sensation. “It was more like energy.”

Dean gives him a puzzled look. “But it’s impossible” he says, shaking his head, “You were...” He’s cut by the sound of the soup starting to boil behind him and he rushes to stop it. He then brings it to Cas in a bowl and puts it in front of him.

The angel first looks at it apprehensively before he raises the spoon to his lips. The hot liquid burns the tip of his tongue and he winces. He then tries again, but blows on it first, and when the warm food flows down his sore throat, he has a sigh of ease. Dean watches him with an amused smile and so much softness Cas thinks he’s going to dissolve under his eyes.

“I was dead, it’s true,” he begins, between two spoonfuls before he puts it down. “There was nothing – I was nothing – and then I heard something. It was very faint but I felt the pain in it very clearly. Sometimes it was silent but it became louder and louder everyday. And then I heard it say my name, and I was alive” he says in one breath, fire blowing in his chest as he remembers the gasp he had in the dark.

Dean looks at him in total incomprehension. “I don’t understand...” he whispers, and damned are the flames coursing in his hands as he keeps himself from wrapping his arms around Cas’ shoulders and hold him tight for hours.

Cas gives him a gentle look and suddenly his eyes are glassy and Dean can’t breathe. “It was you” Cas murmurs as an answer, and he grits his teeth as he keeps himself from collapsing against Dean.

Dean’s eyes sound his, alert and confused and desperate. “Can’t be. I couldn’t-” _Save you_ , he nearly adds but his voice gets stuck in his throat.

A smile breaks on Cas’ mouth, one like Dean never saw before. True and raw and shiny despite the tears filling his eyes. “I did survive when we crossed the portal, but my grace was very weakened.”

“Because of me” Dean says, bitter and aching, “Jack told me to keep it safe and I failed.”

“Dean, it was not your fault” Cas says, leaning to him with his eyes dark of worry. “No one could have saved me.” He has a deep sigh. “I could have woke but my body was wounded too, and my grace wasn’t strong enough to heal it, even less to make it function. It fell asleep, in some way.”

Dean’s features are suddenly painted with horror. “So you weren’t dead?” he blurts, and his heart is like a drum inside him, resonating to his ears and brain. “Cas, if I buried you alive, how am I gonna- how are you...”

Cas leans towards him and his hand gently grips Dean’s arm. The hunter seems to freeze entirely, and his breathing turns fast and desperate before he looks back at Cas, barely moving. “I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t even conscious, Dean” he says, his eyes fixed strong on him. “When you… prayed to me, my grace became stronger and fed on that energy, and when it was strong enough, I was alive again.”

Dean gives him an incredulous look glazed of tears. “I prayer-fueled your grace?” he says, and he can’t even understand the sense of the words crossing his lips.

Cas has a soft smile. “You could say it like that, yes” His eyes then become a little sadder, or maybe just so deep and bottomless like the oceans. He dives them into Dean’s. “You made me alive again.”

Dean’s breath gets stuck in his throat. “Oh” he says, and he blinks several times, his eyes fluttering all around the room. He’s completely lost. Not one second he thought his desperate prayers would do something, would bring Cas back to him. Unwillingly, his hand raises to land on his shoulder, and he thinks of each of his words, as if they were beams of light, droplets falling one by one in Cas’ body until it’s full of bright, white-blue energy.

 

Cas notices his gesture and his eyes soften and when Dean’s hand falls back on his side, he takes a deep breath and raises his own to gently put it on Dean’s shoulder, fingers spread around his muscle, feeling the blood pumping loud under his fingertips.

“There’s something else” he says and when he raises his eyes back to Dean, he sees this one is staring at him, barely breathing, his body leaning unwillingly under Cas’ touch. “When I saved you from Hell, I needed a great amount of energy to pull the two of us out. When I used my grace, the power was so sudden it left a mark.” He has a smile smile, “But you already know that.”

Dean keeps staring at him, silent, his eyes wide of awe like a child. He feels Cas’ hand warm and soothing on his shoulder, and he remembers the odd mark on his skin, the swollen print his grace left on him. He nods, too desperate to hear the rest of the story.

Cas takes a deep breath. “What you don’t know, is that by doing this, I also left a part of my grace inside of you. And as you fueled it, you also made it whole again.” He has a pause and his features are so gentle Dean feels like falling. “And… it felt personal. I felt your emotions and, in a way I can’t explain, a part of your soul flew to me as well.”

Dean gives him a stunned look, his mouth half open of amazement. “I did that?” he asks. How could he, a raw mess of a human, could make something that could only be seen as magic? As a miracle?

Cas nods and gives him a smile that sends warmth in all his body. “Yes.” His hand lingers a little longer on his shoulder, before he pulls it back, his fingers slightly brushing against Dean’s arm. “You carried a part of me and now, it’s my turn to carry you” he says, and that ends to blow Dean’s breath away.

He lowers his head and stares into space, his eyes wide open. He can almost feel the tiny thread of his soul inside Cas, and he can imagine it curling around his heart and bones. He supposes it’s the closest he’ll get to him, and despite the bitterness he can’t help but feel, he’s still grateful for that small spark of him that will be lucky enough to sleep into the dark of Cas’ chest.

Cas has a little sigh and he takes another mouthful of his soup, and it’s both odd and soothing, to see him so human and so real, and Dean feels his heart misses a beat when he truly realizes he’s back.

Of course there was the shock and pain and grief, but he didn’t fully get that Cas was back to him now. He remembers the small thread of light inside its bottle, and then he sees Cas, breathing and moving, and he aches to the deepest pit of his bones. It’s like a sudden wave of fire, a tongue of flames swelling in his chest, wide and brutal, and he feels it in his ribs, his fingertips, his head.

The feeling is so great it makes him ache and he has to clench his jaw to hold a hurt sound back in his throat. He watches Cas stop eating, before he frowns and takes his coat, and then jacket off. Again, it feels so strange, so eerie, as if he laid out his armor, put his grace down to let the human side of him shine.

 

Dean swallows hardly and all he wants is to heal his wounds and wash his bruises and kiss his glassy eyes to sleep. Instead he gives him a small, comprehensive smile. “Maybe you could head to the shower when you’re done” he says, considering the stained clothes and moss in Cas’ hair.

This one hums lightly. “Yes, I thought about it.” His mouth then has a little bitter fold. “But I have no other clothes than these ones”

“Don’t worry about that” Dean says, giving him a smile, “You can borrow mine” he adds, before he feels the heat rising to his face and he feels suddenly very small and clumsy. “Or I could, you know, _wash_ them.”

Cas gives him a side look. “I know you can” he calmly says, but a flush spreads on his cheeks at the idea of feeling Dean’s warmth and smell and soul so close to his own skin. He then shakes his head, a heavy feeling suddenly tightening his throat. “It’s just that… It feels wrong to wear them again after being buried in them” he says, uneasy.

Dean’s eyes open wide of horror. “Shit, Cas I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking-”

“It’s alright” Cas cuts him and his eyes are very warm, yet very tired. “It’s just that I can smell it on them… _death_. They’re like a reminder of all the mistakes I made and how foolishly I ended up underground” he says and a shiver moves all his limbs.

Dean is stunned by how rough and cold Cas’ voice sounds, and he knows it’s not anger, but pain. Bright, glacial pain and disgust. Dean feels his heart sink in his chest as he imagines Cas waking in his coffin, gasping into the dark before he clawed his way out and laid on the soft earth, surrounded by moss and ferns and worms. Of course no one would keep on living in the same clothes, or skin, they were buried in.

He keeps his fingers from curling around Cas’. “Maybe” he begins, the words strange on his tongue, as if he didn’t know how to shape them, how to give them a spirit, “We could talk about it? When you’re feeling better?”

Cas raises his eyes to him, and they shine of hope despite the grief and memories overflowing inside them. “I’m not sure I can” he says, “But I can try, if you want me to.”

“Whatever you need” Dean says and damned be the fire in his chest for it’s like cracks running on all his body and he has to keep every pieces together, or he’d spill like an ocean and turns into a pond at Cas’ feet, and he would ascend to the moon if he asked him to.

 

Cas smiles at him before he takes another careful sip of his meal. Dean is about to give him a soothing curve of his mouth in return when there’s a sudden sound in the bunker.

 

Dean raises his head, alert, for he recognizes the front door slamming shut. If Cas is here, it can only mean Sam and Mary are back. Dean stands up, and his heart thunders in his ears, for he realizes they both grieved for Cas too, and he doesn’t even know how he’s going to tell them he’s back, back from the grave and from an afterlife that never was one.

He’s about to step into the corridor when he hears Cas say his name in a hushed, desperate little whisper. He turns back, confused, only to cross the angel’s eyes, and to his greatest surprise they’re filled with so much hurt and _fear_.

He thinks he recognizes the feeling swirling in Cas’ look. It’s gray like ashes, and it’s a stench that sticks to the skin too. It’s the pure terror of loneliness. The dark shadow curling in a corner of the room, always lurking and always ready to jump on its victim. Sometimes it’s barely there, sometimes it’s so heavy you feel like there’s no more space for the air you breathe.

And that’s exactly how Cas is looking at him. As if Dean would never come back if he ever left. As if the demon could swallow him whole in its mouth of fangs and blood and emptiness. Dean knows the feelings too well. The monster only grew bigger during the past month, as if each day that passed without Cas was another feast for that dreadful creature.

He has a small sigh and walks to Cas, who raises his eyes to him, desperate and hurt. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere OK?” Dean reassures him and he realizes his voice is strangled, and he can’t even imagine leaving Cas ever again. “I’ll just go get Sam and Mom, so I’ll explain to them before they see you.” He has a smile, “It’s gonna be a shock.”

Cas nods and smiles back at him, but the fear is still there in his irises, black like the night, spreading on the thin, bitter line of his lips and the twitch of his fingers. “Yes, of course” he says, shaking his head as if he had a silly thought, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be” Dean gently answers, “I get it.”

Cas looks up at him with his wide blue eyes, and Dena hates to see the ache in them. Pushed by an instinct out of control, he suddenly leans and wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders, and as the angel is still sitting, his face is mostly pressed against Dean’s belly.

Dean just hopes he can’t hear the butterflies rustling inside it. He just closes his eyes and his fingertips dive in Cas’ hair, and it feels like this mystical warmth has always been there, that they were somehow always meant to be this close. Dean bites his tongue and tries to tell himself his feelings are his own and Cas is not returning them, he’s just tired and afraid, nothing else.

But as Cas wraps his own arms around his waist, and his fingers gently dive in his back, and his grip is firm and desperate, he wonders. Cas has a sigh of ease against him and it feels like he’s settling his head against Dean, as if he could hear the turmoil under his ribs. Dean tries to fight it, but he can’t help but hope that _maybe_ , Cas feels a little of what keeps him awake at night.

He then slowly steps back and gives Cas a smile, before he rips himself from his sight and walks into the corridor. He can feel the pain and cold at the second he crosses the door frame, as if he just walked out of a world of softness and safety, one he wishes he would never leave. He clenches his fists and convinces himself Cas is not going to disappear, not once again, that he was real in his arms, and that he won’t turn to ashes.

 

He takes a deep breath and walks to the war room, fighting against all his being not to turn back.

 

When he arrives, he barely has the time to breathe before his brother rushes to him, distraught like a bird in a trap. “Dean, are you OK?” Sam asks, grabbing his shoulders, looking at him as if he could break at any time. “We tried to call you a hundred times!” he exclaims, and his brow bares the weight of his worry.

Dean suddenly feels so bad. Cas’ arrival threw him into another space and he completely forgot about the real world. “Sorry” he says, lowering his head of shame, “I, uh, I was distracted.” He bites his lip and he doesn’t know how to begin the terrible conversation. “How was the hunt? Aren’t you a little early?”

Sam has a long, relieved sigh and steps back. “Turned out the husband just murdered his wife in cold blood. No monsters, no witches” he says with a bitter expression, and Dean watches him starting to unpack. His mother comes to kiss him on the cheek, and when she asks him if he’s alright, he just nods hastily with a forced smile.

Mary frowns. “Dean, are you alright?” she asks, echoing Sam’s first words. She observes Dean’s face, sounding his eyes, and she is even more puzzled when she sees the light in them. The kind of bright, glassy glow she only saw when Castiel was around, and most of all, alive.

Sam turns at the sound of her voice and folds appear above his eyes, as they turn from Mary to Dean, confused. “What is it?” he asks, and Dean sees the purple circles under his irises and the darkness inside them, just like he sees it’s the same for his mother.

How can he even begin? Cas has been gone for a month, and now he’s back, and he’s here, sipping soup in the kitchen with his wide blue eyes and shaking hands, and he’s broken and terrified, just like Dean was for all these days. But Sam and Mary mourned him too, they felt his absence heavy and suffocating around and inside them, and Dean doesn’t want to be too brutal on them. He can’t just tell them that life is about to return to the way it was, because even he can’t believe it.

He has a deep sigh and gathers all his strength. “Something happened while you were gone” he says, and he lowers his eyes to the ground. He doesn’t even understand why he feels so strange. It’s like saying those words out loud could shatter the illusion and Cas would still be gone, and he’d just have dreamed all of it.

Sam frowns even deeper and walks to him, and Dean clenches his jaw. He hates to be the burden, the scared and hurt little animal his brother and mother have to take care of because he can’t even stand on his legs without falling.

“What happened?” Sam asks and he dreads the answer more than anything. What if Dean went outside and did something wrong, because he was so emotionally unstable he couldn’t see right anymore? What if he hurt someone, or worse?

Dean draws a tiny breath in. “It’s about Cas” he blurts and he sees Sam’s eyes darken of worry and ache.

“What about him?” Mary asks and when he turns to look at her, he sees her eyes are warm and benevolent, a gentle, soothing smile painted on her lips. She thinks he’s having one of the worse days. She thinks he’s about to break and spill once again.

He stares at her, then at Sam, and no words want to come out of his mouth at first. He clenches his fists on his sides and then, “He’s… he’s back” he blurts and it feels like a blow in his chest. He’s not dreaming, this pain is too real to be a trick of his mind. And now that his thoughts turned into words, he realizes the greatness of the situation. Cas is back to him, and miracle or not, he’s not going to let him go another time.

He looks back at Sam through his tears of joy and a smile began to shape on his mouth, and his heart feels like it’s about to burst.

 

But Sam and Mary don’t seem to share his bliss. His brother’s eyes darken and he and his mother exchange a look heavy of words unsaid. Sam feels the pang of dread resonate in all his body. He watched Dean’s mind crumble a little more with each day that passed but he somehow hoped it’d end at some point and even if Dean would have been left in pieces, he wouldn’t be totally gone. But now that he looks at the sunshine trapped in his mad irises and the blissful grin on his mouth, he can’t help but feel like he failed to keep his brother sane.

The thought makes nausea shake in his stomach. What if Dean is completely going insane? What if Cas’ loss affected him so badly he just became the shadow of himself, a being empty of reason, lost in a perpetual daydream?

God, he feels the tears prickling in his eyes. He doesn’t know if he can’t go on without Dean. Or rather, go on while he’s still here, perfectly alive and well, just not the brother who lived by his side for all those years. When he looks at Mary, he sees the same fear in her eyes as she bites her lip, anguish spreading inside of her.

Sam takes a deep breath and makes a step to Dean, ready to tell him the awful truth, ready to try bringing him back to reality. And then Dean’s stare changes and it snaps out of its honey-thick reverie to give his brother a look so humanly offended Sam stops.

“You think I’m losing my mind, aren’t you?” Dean asks, frowning as he gives him an incredulous look. He crosses his arms on his chest, darkening. “You don’t believe me.”

“No, that’s not that!” Sam exclaims so hastily Dean blinks of surprise. He softens. “It’s just that… You haven’t been well lately, and I’m-” He glances at Mary who keeps staring at Dean with afraid blue eyes, “We’re worried about you.”

“Yeah, I know that” Dean answers before he makes a step towards them and the pure, raw joy is blooming again in his eyes, against all his will. “But I’m not hallucinating, I’m not having visions” he says, and all his being pulls him to the kitchen where Cas is. “It’s real. _He_ ’s real” he says with such force and wonder in his voice Sam’s heart misses a beat.

“Dean...” he says, hoping Dean will come back to reason and will realize he’s just so hopeful he started to see things that aren’t there.

Dean doesn’t think twice. “If you don’t believe me, then you just have to see for yourself” he says, and he suddenly grabs both Sam and Mary’s arms and drags them with him down the corridor.

 

They protest softly behind him but his steps are sure and determined, and his heart beats furiously in his chest. His family is finally back together and this time he’s the one who has to fix it, and he doesn’t care how hard it’ll be. He just wants all the suffering and sickness to be over.

Following his hushed pace, Sam feels the worry and dread spread their wings inside of him. He bites his tongue and he doesn’t want to face the moment where he’ll arrive in the room and Cas won’t be there. And then he doesn’t know what would be worse: that he vanished for Dean too and this one will be tore by pain, or that he’ll keep seeing him and Sam will know he’s gone for good.

He insists, trying to pull at his brother’s sleeve to stop him, just like when Dean was walking straight to the older boys bullying Sam when he was just a kid. He kept trying to hold him back, because he knew it wouldn’t do any good, except make Dean look like the brutal, dark being he’s not.

They finally arrive in the kitchen and Dean pushes them into the room, his excitement overflowing from his eyes. Sam holds his breath, ready to feel the insanity come rushing through him.

 

But instead all the air in his lungs is blown out when his eyes land on a familiar silhouette that turns away from the sink with surprise to this sudden wave of noise. Sam blinks several times, but it’s still here, and clear like the water that flows in the mountains, he sees Cas staring back at him, as well with the thin, tired smile on his lip.

“Cas?” he blurts, breathless as his eyes go up and down the angel’s silhouette. He sees the rumpled white shirt and muddy pants and disheveled hair and he notices the stained trench coat and jacket draped over a chair near him. He then sees the small blue flowers peeking out of one of the pockets and he raises his eyes back to Cas, stunned.

This one’s smile spreads a little wider and he blinks, his irises turning glassy. “Hello Sam” he says, and that’s it, Sam realizes he’s taken his brother for a mad man, but he was right and Cas is there, Cas is alive.

In a few steps he’s come to him and the second after he wraps both his arms around his shoulders and takes him into a bone-crushing hug. Cas has a little surprised sound but he soon relaxes and leans his head against Sam’s shoulder. A second embrace joins them when Mary surrounds them both, her hair soft and tickling Cas’ neck as she smiles of astonishment, tears dripping down her face.

“You were dead” Sam sobs against Cas, and he pulls he and his mother closer to him, his eyes shut of pure, sunshiny joy and relief.

“I’m sorry” Cas answers, his voice muffled against the fabric of Sam’s jacket. He can smell the dust and blood and rust on it, but he doesn’t mind for it smells a little like home and all he cares about for now is the warmth emanating from Sam and Mary, sweet and gentle like honey.

They don’t him let go, and he loses his breath at how firm their grip is around him, how strong they hold onto him, as if they were stitching him back to their little group. He sighs of ease and melts into the darkness, pierced by small blows of colorful lights, bursting behind his closed eyelids.

 

Mary keeps smiling and she sniffs, and her tears won’t stop pouring out. She holds her boys against her, the one who is now taller than her, strong and fearless, and the one who rained down from the sky, the one she thought was lost for good. Behind Sam, she notices Dean staring at them, his arms crossed on his chest as he leans against the door frame, his eyes warm and glassy of bliss.

“Come” she says, her hand reaching out to him to invite him in the embrace. She feels like a piece is missing, just like when they held each other after Ketch and the other British Men of Letters died. Cas wasn’t there and she knew his absence felt heavy in Dean’s arms.

He gives her a surprised look and softly shakes his head, not wanting to disturb their peace. She gives him an insistent look, one only mothers know how to do to bend anyone to their will, and he rushes to join them, hushed like a little child.

He thinks Mary is going to move to leave him a place in their circle, but instead Sam notices his arrival and open his arm and suddenly he’s pressed against his chest, Cas right by his side, small and shivering.

 

Dean doesn’t know how to act for a moment before it comes as an instinct and he passes an arm behind Sam’s back and the other across Cas’ shoulders to touch his mother. Cas moves a little and when Dean lowers his head to look at him, he suddenly faces two wide blue eyes damp of tears and he realizes how close they are, and he sees how Cas’ breath seems to get caught inside of him.

Dean pushes all the fire back inside of him and smiles at Cas instead. The angel blinks a few times, more tears roll down to fall from his chin, and he suddenly settles against Dean’s chest, burying his face against him, as his side is still against Sam. Dean feels swallowed by deep, bright water and he closes his eyes of ease, before he puts his chin on the top of Cas head, feeling his soft hair brushing against his skin.

Mary’s eyes followed the entire scene and she represses a smile. Now that Castiel is back, she hopes things will be different between him and Dean, that the walls will come tumbling down for good. But seeing Dean’s blissful smile and Cas’ fingers desperately gripping his back, she thinks she should not worry about that.

 

They finally pull apart a few minutes after, wiping their tears in the same motion, different shades of pale blue mixed together with both sorrow and happiness. Sam sniffs and his eyes are swollen and red. They briefly fall on Dean’s hand still on Cas’ arm before they flutter back to the angel’s face.

“How is it possible?” he asks, gesturing at him in astonishment.

Cas has a small smile, one like Sam never saw before, one made of pure, raw starlight. “I think you should sit before I tell you” he says, causing a little laugh of amusement from Dean, and a pang in Sam’s chest as he didn’t hear this sound for days.

Once they’re all settled around the table, Cas tells him everything. He tells him about the last thing he remembers before dying, meaning the sting of the blade in his back before he fell into blackness. He tells him about his grace being dragged into a tiny dot left of the portal, and then across an entire land, only to dive back into a prison of bones he couldn’t escape.

And then he tells him about seeing Dean and then how things went so fast as both the hunter and himself tried to convince Castiel to let him go. He tells him about the vial, and what it was like to be in his purest form, and finally the pang of power he felt inside of him when they crossed the portal again.

And then he tells him about his grace seeping back into his body and finding the gaping wound, and how it just shut down, too weakened to make him alive again. He tells him about how he was nothingness and how he slowly came back to existence, blow of light by blow of light, how Dean’s prayers fueled his grace until he was breathing again, and how a part of Dean’s soul is now his. At this point, Sam turns to give Dean a questioning look, but this one avoids his eyes, a flush covering his cheeks. Cas ends by telling him about how he gasped for air and fought his way out of the wood and dirt, and finally he was free.

 

Sam keeps staring at him long minutes after he finished, breathless. “Damn” he says, shaking his head as all the information crowds into his brain. He turns to Dean. “Did you know it’d work? Praying?”

Dean has a little laugh that is tainted of ache. “No, I didn’t” he says, and Sam sees his hands are joined, as if he was still begging for Cas’ life. “I had no idea.”

Sam turns to Cas, still awed. “Did you know it could work?”

Cas softy nods. “I heard it was possible, but as far as I know, it never happened before.” He then lowers his head, the same bright color spreading on his face. “I suppose no angel and human had a connection strong enough to make it work” he admits, now avoiding everyone’s eyes, including Dean’s.

Sam holds back a smirk and instead focuses on Cas’ story. “So if I got it right, you now have a small part of human soul inside of you?”

Cas is about to answer but Mary cuts him off. “Could that explain why you felt hungry when you… came back?” she asks, her blue eyes diving into his. “Could it affect your grace and sort of transform it?”

Cas nods, confirming Mary’s theory. “Yes, that’s what I thought. Again, I knew it was possible, but no other angel experienced it.”

Sam frowns. “So what does that make you? Human or angel?”

“Both” Cas answers, moving on his seat as tiredness seems to spread like a great stretch of water in his eyes, “I’m still an angel, but I now have some human… inconveniences. Hunger, thirst, sleep…” He has a pause, before his lashes flutter as he adds, “And feelings the way humans experience them...”

“What does that mean?” Mary gently asks, her eyes wide open of curiosity. “Didn’t you have… _feelings_ before?” she says, briefly glancing at Dean.

“I did. It was not always like this, but I learned to feel things when angels are supposed to be strangers to any kind of emotion” Cas admits with a little, sad smile. “But now, it feels like everything is a thousand times louder.”

There’s a little beat of silence before Dean speaks of his hoarse voice. “And that’s because of me?” he says, feeling very small and wrong, as if he was a disease, a virus that spreads at the very touch of his hand.

Cas turns his head and crosses his stare for the first time since he began to talk. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know” he says, before his eyes turn soft and honey-like and Sam and Mary watch them flow on Dean, swallowing him whole of awe, “Besides, being human isn’t as unpleasant as it seems. I didn’t have a good experience in the past, but I do hope it’ll be different this time.”

“It will” Dean answers and then they both grow quiet and stare at each other without a noise, just enjoying the silence and the thunder of their hearts in their chests.

 

Sam observes the scene, amused, before he clears his throat, making their heads turn to him. “Maybe you could go for a shower now? It’s starting to be late now, and I guess we will all just get something to eat and turn in for the night. Just take the time to enjoy it, OK?” he says, giving Cas a gentle look.

“Yes, that’s a good idea” the angel answers and he gets up, grabbing his coat and jacket on the way.

Dean leaves Sam and Mary and follows him into the corridor. He catches his arm to make him stop. “Hey” he says, as Cas gives him a confused look. “Are you sure you’re gonna be OK?”

Cas has a small sigh. “Don’t worry for me, Dean.”

This one shivers at the sound of his name on Cas’ tongue. “I think I have the right to, after what happened.” He then seems to remember something. “Wait, you’re gonna need some clothes.” he says before he grabs Cas’ wrist very gently, “Come on.”

In his room, he rummages through several drawers before he put a small heap of clothes in Cas’ hands. “There, just go take that shower. I think you need it” he says, making a face that causes a glower from Cas. “Sorry” Dean says with a small laugh, and it sounds like diamond rain in Cas’ ears. Dean’s eyes then become serious again. “Then if you need to talk or anything… I’ll be there” he says and the hope piercing in his voice makes Cas’ heart miss a beat.

“Thank you” he says, not knowing what else to say when his breath is caught from his lungs. Dean answers him with a little smile before Cas leaves the room, holding the little pile of clothes tight against his chest, like a treasure.

 

When he steps under the shower, the hot water makes him gasp of surprise and pain. It feels unpleasant at first, and he grits his teeth. The drops seem heavy and acid as they fall like burning stars on his shoulders and chest, they prickle and make his flesh ache more than it already is. He thinks he’s going to get out as soon as possible, but that’s before he feels the blue ocean swelling in his lungs.

Suddenly, a wave of sorrow crashes over him and he nearly breaks in two, as if he had just been hit in the stomach. The pain makes tears rise to his eyes and they fall among the drops, invisible and silent.

It all becomes too much. His twisted mind makes him live all the most awful moments again. He’s beaten and broken and bruised, and he’s ignored and spat on and abandoned. He thinks of all the times he was too weak to fight and he ended up bloody and sore. He thinks of when his side was pierced by the Lance of Michael and he felt the poison flow black and free in his body, and how Death came so close to him.

And then he thinks of his own brother diving the silver blade in his back. He thinks of his spirit being torn apart and dragged in the mud like an animal, before it was put into a cage he couldn’t escape. He thinks of how he saw Dean in danger and pain and how he couldn’t do anything about it. And then he thinks of his grace hurting so bad he felt like breaking in two. He thinks of slowly waking up in the dark and feeling the wood and earth around him, the panic rising in his chest as he clawed his way out.

He thinks of how he gasped for air when his head finally pierced the ground, and how he lied on the ground for long, long minutes, just breathing heavily and staring at the stormy sky. The only thing that illuminated his ascent from the dead was the tiny flowers, broken and tattered on the earth. When his fingers touched them, it all screamed of Dean and his desperate prayers that were light and light and light in his heart.

Cas has a painful sobs and he leans his head against the cool tiles of the wall, letting the water pour down on him. He looks at it swirling at his feet, tainted of a dirty brown, small branches and pieces of moss sinking with it. He then feels nausea shake in his stomach and suddenly he hates this skin, these bones, for they hold too many memories and it makes him feel like an ocean trapped in a bottle.

He cries and he cries and he feels like the stench of Death is all over him. What is he now? He’s no longer an angel, but he’s no human either. He’s something in between, an outcast, something that doesn’t belong anywhere, caught between Heaven and Earth. He feels the dirt under his nails and the dust on his skin and the sweat on his brow and suddenly he feels like a walking and breathing corpse, a dreadful thing that came back from the grave.

He takes the soap and rubs his skin until it’s red and sore, and then he washes his hair, shakes all the remains of the tomb that were caught in it. He feels sick deep in his belly, and he clenches his jaw, his vision blurry with big, salty tears. He wants to stay a little longer but Dean visibly needed to talk, and he just can’t leave him alone like this.

He enjoys the hot water washing all the dirt away before he turns it off and steps out of the shower. He rapidly dries his body with a rough towel before he gets dressed with the same hurry. It’s only when he feels the fabric of Dean’s clothes against his skin that he slows down.

It’s comfortable clothes, just sweatpants and a t-shirt, but they’re so soft it makes him feel at ease, somehow protected in the warmth of them. Besides, they smell like Dean, strong of leather and forest fires despite the products he used to wash them. He buries his nose in the collar, and takes deep breaths for a little, shameful moment, colors blooming behind his closed eyelids. He then grabs his old, dirty clothes – and God knows how much he wants them to disappear, for they hold too much of his misery – before he leaves the room.

 

He doesn’t really know where he’s going and a feeling pulls him back to the kitchen. And to his heart’s greatest joy, Dean is still there, sipping some coffee, his eyes lost into space. He also changed his clothes and switched to more comfortable ones. When he hears Cas enter the room, he raises his head and suddenly they widen, as they travel from his head to toes, mouth slightly open in a startled expression.

Cas feels his grace ache a little and he thinks he must look really awful to cause such reaction from Dean. What he doesn’t see is Dean’s fluttering lashes and colored cheeks, for he keeps convincing himself no such thing could happen because of him.

Dean clears his throat and puts his cup down, a blush still spreading on his face. “So, uhm, feeling better?” he asks, getting up to walk to Cas.

Cas softly nods. “Yes, thank you.” He has a little, amused smile despite the agony lapping in his lungs. “You were right, I really needed it.”

Dean is about to have a little laugh when he gets close enough to see Cas’ eyes, and Dear, how swollen and red and full of hurt they are. His joy fades and a frown covers his features instead, as his stare sounds Cas’ face, trying to find a reason to this great, great pain. “Are you alright?” he asks, and he fights against the feeling fizzing in his fingertips, and all he wants is to take Cas in his arms.

Cas looks startled and he curses himself to be so obvious about his emotions. “Yes, I’m fine” he says and he doesn’t even know why he lies, it just comes naturally. And though it feels toxic and black in his mouth, he can’t help it.

Dean wants to protest but seeing Cas’ tight lips and stubborn eyes, he knows the angel is not ready to open up on his feelings for now. He sighs and then his eyes fall on Cas’ clothes, as he’s still clutching them against him, as if it was his own skin to shed.

“You don’t want to keep those, right?” he asks Cas, pointing at the trench and suit and shoes and tie, everything that made Cas who he was, in some way.

Cas shakes his head. “No, I would rather not” he says before he shudders, “It makes me sick to think about wearing them again” he adds with such honesty Dean’s mind goes blank and he needs a few seconds before he finally answers.

“Then come with me. I’ve got an idea” he says, a smile suddenly spreading on his lip, despite the tiredness and bittersweet feeling flowing in his veins.

Cas gives him a confused look. “What is it?” he says, frowning.

“You’ll see” Dean says and he takes Cas’ clothes from him. He then grabs his arm and walk him back to his room. There, he puts them down and rummages once again in his belongings before he hands Cas a hoodie. “Put this on” he says and before Cas can even open his mouth, he puts his own jacket on and drags Cas outside with him.

 

The cold wind breaks against Cas’ bones with violence. He shivers and gets closer to Dean, searching for a little warmth. They’re now out in the open, on the last bit of concrete before the ground turns to the earth of the woods. He swallows down nervously, flashes of his sore steps to the bunker on the same morning appearing in his mind.

He turns to Dean when he feels him leaving his side. His heart starts beating faster before he sees the hunter pushing a barrel to them, his teeth clenched of effort. He then has a tired sigh and walks to a tiny shack against the bunker wall and comes back with a small container and a box of matches.

Cas watches him with confusion as Dean pours liquid in the barrel, and Cas immediately recognizes the odd scent of gasoline, and suddenly Dean cracks a match and drops it inside.

 

The fire bursts, bright and hot and dangerous and Cas has a small step back, watching the flames with wide eyes. He looks at Dean and sees this one is handing him his stained clothes. “Go on” he says, gesturing at the barrel with his chin. “Time for new beginnings” he adds, his voice soft and encouraging.

Cas’ shaking hands take the clothes from him and Dean comes to stand by his side, so close his shoulder brushes against his. Cas can’t help but observe the way flames dance on his features, making them frightening and divine, turning his eyes into ponds of liquid amber, dripping right into Cas’ heart.

He swallows hardly and turns back to the fire, heart beating fast. It feels symbolic, as if he was throwing his old skin away, as if he was getting rid of an older, weaker self. It may look like a bunch of old, dirty clothes, but it was his armor, and the constant reminder of his divine nature, how he would never change and be stained by the human world.

He feels a little hesitant at first, as it’s the only belongings he has with his car. Other than that, he’s nothing with nothing. But he fights against this silly feeling of despair and takes a deep breath. He gets a little bit closer and suddenly he throws it all into the flames, and with a great bright wave it swallows everything he has.

He watches it burn, and it feels like a weight has been pushed away from his chest. He sees the remains of his old life melt inside the furnace and he’s suddenly freed of some kind of ancient fear of change.

Dean comes to stand close to him and Cas can see him shiver a little under the bright moon, as the fire keeps moving in his irises. Cas wishes he could talk but the words are trapped in his throat like birds in a cage. He can only stare at him, with his animal eyes and soft curve of the mouth, and all the strings in his heart are pulled at the same time, creating a low lament that’s red and velvety and sweetly painful.

“We can get out tomorrow and get you new ones, if you want” Dean suggests, turning to Cas with a gentle expression.

“I’d like that” Cas answers and he can’t help but give him a small smile in return. “Thank you” he suddenly says, his chest overflowing with the same deep red feeling, “For everything.”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s nothing” he says before he takes Cas’ arm again, “Come on, I’m not letting you catch a cold now” he adds, making Cas have a very soft laugh.

Dean walks him to his room and when he turns the lights on he’s still stunned by the barren walls and plain space. But most of all, his heart aches when he remembers Cas lying on this very bed, so still and cold.

 

Cas enters the room and slowly turns back to him, and there’s a little beat of silence. Both of them are staring at the ground and it feels like they’re both waiting for something to happen. All Dean wants is to wrap his arms around Cas’ shoulders, while all Cas wants is to collapse against his chest. But tiredness and ache and shame make it very hard and instead Dean just sighs and puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“If you need anything, I’ll be there” he says and longing is heavy like honey floating in the air. “Don’t worry about waking me up.”

Cas looks up at him with his starry eyes. “Alright” he whispers, and all he can think about is Dean’s palm against his shoulder and how each of his fingertips send lightning in his flesh. “Good night Dean” he says, feeling the dread of the night closing in.

“Good night Cas” Dean answers, only allowing himself a few seconds to linger on Cas’ shoulder before he drags his hand down his arm and his palm becomes empty and cold again.

He nods and steps back, before he turns around and heads to his room. He feels it like a sting in his heart, and all he wants is to run back to Cas, enfold him, breathe into him. He clenches his fists and fights against all his instincts not to come running to Cas’ door like a wounded puppy, crying and begging Cas to ease that tumultuous ocean inside of him.

 

He enters his room and drops on his bed like a dead weight. He feels the exhaustion making his eyelids heavy and his limbs numb, but something keeps his soul awake, making it sing and fly inside of him, making his heart beat like a drum behind his ribs and sleep just doesn’t seem to find him.

All he can think about is Cas and his red, swollen eyes when he got out of the shower, and how he was unable to talk to him. How he couldn’t reach out to him in fear he’d destroy the bond between them. He wonders if Cas is asleep, if his suffering eased a little and allowed him to rest for one night at least.

But then he remembers Sam’s words, telling him he kept taking Cas as granted. That he always thought he’d be fine on his own, and how he always ended up hurt in the end. He clenches his jaw and tries to calm the furious beats of his heart, but pictures of Cas dead, lifeless, _gone_ , haunt him and he is awfully awake and it feels like there’s a hollow space in his arms. He remembers standing by the fire in the cold night, and a soft warmth had surrounded him when he got close to Cas, and he knew it was not the flames’ doing.

He grits his teeth. He won’t let Cas be silent, he won’t let him drown in dark thoughts again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to forgive himself if something ever happened to Cas, and God, he doesn’t want to think of what would happen if he was taken from him once again.

The ocean roars even louder inside him, as salty water licks his bones and foam surrounds his thoughts. His fingers twitch and suddenly he’s decided. Hell, he’ll probably act like a fool, and he’ll probably destroy the fragile link between Cas and him, but he can’t wait anymore. He has to stop waiting for a miracle to happen, he has to stop hoping things will get easier on their own, for his fear and stubbornness only made Cas drift away and put his life in danger, made him think he was alone in this world.

He draws a shaking breath in and suddenly gets up. His muscles are stiff of sleep and anguish, but he walks to the door and opens it slowly not to wake anyone. He enters the hallway and turns to where he came from, ready to hurry to Cas’ room and beg him to forgive him for his past carelessness.

 

But then his eyes meet another silhouette in the corridor and his heart misses a beat.

 

Cas stares back at him, having a little strangled breath of surprise and even in the faint light around, Dean can see the tears flowing like pale rivers on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you, I-” Cas begins, before his voice is cut by more sobs and he makes a small step back, shaking his head as teardrops crash on the floor, each of them painfully loud in Dean’s heart. Cas bites his lip and avoids his eyes, resignation painted across his features.

He makes another move back but Dean is faster, and he catches his wrist, his breathing rapid and frightened. “Cas” he says and when the angel raises his head to him, he feels his soul sinking inside him. He exhales deeply. “Just come in, alright?” he asks, and there’s a little beat of silence before Cas nods softly and Dean drags him into his bedroom, fingers still curled around his hand.

 

Cas makes a few steps into the room, feeling very small and insecure as Dean closes the door behind them. The hunter then walks him to the bed with a hand on his elbow, before he makes him sit and settles by his side.

“I didn’t want to wake you” Cas repeats, and his fists are clenched on his sides. He wipes his tears with the sleeve of the hoodie he’s still wearing, before he realizes it belongs to Dean and he winces. “I’m sorry...”

Dean has a small sigh and he instinctively gets closer to Cas, and as his shoulder now brushes against Cas’, he feels the angel’s whole body shivering violently, as if he was caught in the middle of the most brutal winter. “Don’t be. I wasn’t sleeping” he says, looking at Cas’ fingers twitch nervously. He holds his breath as he adds, “I was going to check on you anyway.”

Cas’s body stiffens of surprise and he turns to him, eyes widening. “Why?” he softly asks, searching the answer among Dean’s features, sharp and somber in the faint light of the bedside lamp he turned on.

“I was worried about you” Dean admits. He frowns, tilting his head at Cas. “What happened?” he says, his eyes following the race of Cas’ tears along his face.

Cas wipes them again and he breathes sharply though his nose, and so many emotions swell inside of him. It’s like torturous electricity caged in an ocean. It spreads through him in less than a second and he _suffers_.

“Nothing” he begins but seeing Dean frowns deeper, he sighs. “It’s just that I feel so lost… It’s not the first time I come back from the dead, but this time it just feels like I don’t belong in this world anymore” he finally admits, his voice tiny and strangled by sorrow.

“You do” Dean reassures him and he aches to see Cas in such grief. “We all missed you when you were gone” he says as his chest becomes tight when he thinks of all the days that passed without Cas by his side. “Especially me” he continues, before he sees Cas giving him a look that’s both hopeful and skeptical and a blow of pain goes off in his chest. “I swear to God, Cas, I was in a bad place. When I told Sam you were back, he thought I was hallucinating you!”

Cas flinches when he raises his voice and he blinks a few times, startled. “But why?” he asks, still confused, “You weren’t alone. You had your mother and your brother.” He lowers his head, suddenly numb and tired and aching. “I didn’t think my death would affect you this way.”

Dean freezes entirely as if he had been physically hurt. “So you wouldn’t feel anything if I died?”

Cas gives him a puzzled look. “Of course I would, but it’s different-”

“No, it’s not” Dean snaps and he dives his eyes into his. “I thought you were dead, and then I thought I could save you only because I wanted it so bad. And then I lost my only chance to get you back, and I thought, that’s it, I screwed up and now I can’t fix it.” His stare is so desperate and broken and damp of grief that Cas loses all his doubts. “I know it was just a month, but it felt like years, and it was killing me.”

Cas lets out a strangled breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think...” His eyes soften to become liquid and starry like a night sky above the sea. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Don’t say it like that” Dean answers, giving him an even more pained look. “It wasn’t your fault.” He sniffs loudly and suddenly he gets aware of his surroundings, of the dim light and soft mattress and Cas’ warmth beside him. “All that matters now is that you’re back” he finally says, before a broken smile spreads on his lips, “Because the other Cas was a bit of a jerk.”

At his greatest surprise, Cas has a little, true laugh that fills the entire room with sunlight and honey. “You’re being unnecessarily mean” he says, and he wipes his last tears away as the atmosphere gets lighter, “He did let you go in the end.”

“Yeah, but he did knock me out first” Dean says, and he can’t help his smile from widening. “I still don’t know why he finally gave me your grace.”

Cas gives him a very gentle look. “You know I’d anything for you if you asked, no matter which world we are in” he says, and he fights against sleep, for Dean looks so softly magical in this honey light he wants to carve the memory in every part of him, and never forget a single detail about it.

Dean blinks a few times and his breath seems to get caught in his lungs. He then has another smile as heat spreads like fire under his skin. “Stop it, you’re gonna make me blush” he says, causing Cas to falsely glower at him, before he breaks into another wave of soft laughter, and Dean feels blessed to be the one making Cas forget his pain.

 

There are a few moments of warm silence, where they just listen to their own heartbeats, simply enjoying each other’s company. Cas then turns his head to Dean, a thin smile still painted on his lips, far away from the pure grief he felt when he entered the room, even if his eyes still bear a tiny, blue speck of it.

“I wanted to thank you for coming for me, in the alternate world” he says, and Dean sees that if his lashes are fluttering of slumber, his smile is very real, very aware of every breath and word and heartbeat. “You shouldn’t have done it because it was dangerous, but I’m glad you did.” He glances at Dean. “Even if I know you came for your mother too.”

“It’s true” Dean answers, keeping himself from wrapping his arms around Cas or cup his face in his hands, “But I knew we’d found her one way or another, and I knew she had a lot of chances to be alive.” His eyes darken a little, still haunted by the memory of the past month. “But I’d have done anything to get you back, so I guess I didn’t really think of anything else...”

Cas still looks surprised, so sure he wouldn’t be remembered and even less saved from the land of death. “I’ll try to deserve that life” he says, and how dearly he wishes he could just lean his sore head against Dean’s shoulder.

“It’s gonna be different now” Dean says and his stare is strong and unblinking, and it’s like a flame shining from the depths of his body. “No more secret mission or dumb sacrifice, OK?” he says, before his eyes soften. “This can never happen again, promise me?” he asks, hopeful.

Cas smiles at him. “I promise you” he says and all he wants is to stay here forever. But he sees how Dean fights against sleep, how all his being breathes of exhaustion, and he feels so wrong to keep him awake any longer. He has a little sigh. “I should go now. Thank you for everything” he softly says, before he stands up and starts walking to the door.

 

What he had not expected was that Dean would suddenly stand up behind him and blurts a strangled “Wait” out, making him turn back to the hunter, startled.

 

Dean is staring at him, breathless, and he seems unsure of himself, and he looks afraid and broken and tired and _longing_. He takes a deep, shaking breath in. “Stay” he says in a hushed, murmured prayer.

Cas blinks several times and it’s like all the light in the world now swirls in his chest. He stares at Dean in pure, raw awe. “Are you sure?” he asks, and he feels nervous and terribly shy yet so wonderfully well, “I don’t want to bother you, Dean.”

Dean makes a step to him and Cas sees in his eyes he’s never been more honest and true to himself. “You won’t” he says, and he’s nearly begging at this point, though he dreads Cas’ reaction more than anything, “Just stay for tonight, please?”

Cas thinks he’s dreaming as he hears himself say “Alright.” It’s only when he’s curled under the covers, his body starting to be warm and comfortably numb that he realizes the ocean could break at any time.

 

Dean looked a little ill-at-ease for a few seconds, before he seemed to relax and all his body melt into the mattress and though he tried to talk a little more to Cas, his voice soon became heavy and a few minutes after, he fell asleep with the remains of a blissful smile on his lips.

Cas can’t help but observe him. Dean looks so vulnerable in his sleep, laying on his side with his fist clenched around a handful of bedsheets. His lashes flutter from time to time on his freckled cheeks and all his features look so soft in the darkness of the night and the thickness of slumber, far away from his usual frown or smirk. He looks so peaceful Cas feels like his grace might just burst inside of him and flow lazily like honey and gold in his veins.

He notices a small bruise and a scratch close to Dean’s hairline, probably caused by a recent hunt, and these tiny remains of pain makes his stomach tight. He swallows down and carefully, he raises his hand and softly approaches Dean. He freezes his gesture, making sure Dean is asleep, and when he sees he’s still breathing deep and slow, he lands his fingertips on his forehead and his grace immediately heals those small wounds, making Dean have a sigh of ease in his sleep.

Cas can’t help but have a thin smile and he lets his fingers travel across Dean’s hairline, the short hair tickling his skin, before it trails down his jawline. The touch is very light and shy and when he moves his hand back, he feels thousands of colors blooming in his stomach, and something moves in it, as if birds or fireflies just awaken in his body.

He observes Dean for a few more seconds, before he feels his eyelids fluttering and his limbs becoming warm and numb and he can’t help but hoping life is always going to be this way from now.

 

He falls asleep to the sound of Dean’s breathing and all his grace sings inside of him, while the tiny spark of human soul curled in his heart sighs of adoration, and for the first time since he came back, the two of them seem to be in perfect harmony.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this chapter became longer than expected, I decided to cut it in two parts, so yes, extra chapter for you all to be posted tomorrow!  
> Thanks to everyone who has been following me on this journey! ♥


	7. And This Is So Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this chapter (and the whole story in general): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DlVGoCOXza8

Dean dreams of rotten things.

He dreams that he’s holding Cas in his arms and he feels warm and soothed and alive, but Cas suddenly gasps and a bright white-blue light fills his eyes and mouth. When he looks up, agony twisting his guts, Dean sees a monster with no face, holding a blade of silver and diamond dripping of grace.

He tries to catch it, but it disappears and he’s left with Cas whimpering in his arms and begging him to make it all stop as the blood and light flow wild and free on Dean’s hands. He tries to help him but it’s like standing alone in front of the raging sea: he’s powerless, miserable.

He tries to speak but no words want to come out of his mouth and he cups Cas’ face in his hands and the tears pour down from his eyes, crashing on Cas’ cheeks and suddenly there’s a last bright flash of light and he’s just gone and Dean’s chest burns like a furnace, as if Cas left the mark of his scorched wings on his skin as a final memory.

 

And then the dream is rewound and Dean sees Cas die a thousand times in his arms, and the blood and grace mix in a muddy color and it stains his palms as they shake useless above Cas’ shivering body as more of the thick liquid spurts from his mouth and gaping wound.

Dean tries to save him every time, but it’s like he’s standing on the other side of a bloody river, and his limbs are numb and he’s so tired and all he can do is move in slow-motion. When he arrives near Cas, it’s too late and he’s already drifting into deathly slumber. He cries and shouts and begs all the Universe to bring him back, but no one is listening, and only the great empty answers him with its torturous silence.

He clutches at Cas’ chest, a handful of coat in his fist and he holds him close, trying to bring the warmth back in his trembling body but it’s too late, and he’s cold, so cold and he’s just gone. And suddenly Dean is back on the sandy shore and it’s real, and he remembers Cas’ broken against him and how he carried him to the car, feeling his stomach on the tip of his tongue.

He remembers running through wide, gray woods and the angels kicking his stomach and the demons biting his throat and big blue eyes staring at him with no emotion. He remembers the light floating to Cas’ lips and his eyelids staying still and he remembers the ocean cold inside of him. He remembers the grave and Cas’ tiny and silent as Sam took him to his coffin, and he remembers running through the forest, his belly emptying the bloody, watery liquid at his feet, his grief flowing among the ferns.

He sweats and he feels like suffocating, and he feels frozen and he wants to scream at Cas, make him run away before it’s too late, but the angel stands in front of him, stubborn and divine and his jaw and fists are clenched and every damn time the silver blade pierces his chest like an arrow shot from the sky.

Dean starts shaking and he hurts so bad he feels like dying. He sees Cas falling on the ground again and again, and it all flashes so fast before his eyes, and the pain blooms brighter in his chest. He screams until his throat is sore and he can’t make a sound anymore and the sky is black and tiny birds are falling dead on the earth and red lightning rips through the gray waters.

 

Suddenly he can’t breathe anymore and he gasps and he falls into a black hole and all he sees is blood red eyes staring at him, and teeth chattering close to his ears, and he hears Cas’ broken voice crying of pain. He reaches into the dark but his hands only catch thin air and Cas is gone, gone, gone.

The sun rises and all the nature is rotting around him, the animals and the bugs and the flowers, their smell heavy and sweet and his stomach shakes. He sees Cas trapped in a cage of bones, and his hands grip the bars and he shouts for Dean’s help, and Dean runs to him, his heart thundering in his chest, and he screams his name but the shadow falls over Cas and suddenly all that’s left of him is silvery ashes floating in the wind.

Dean falls down on his knees and he raises his fingers to his chest, but they only dive into viscous nothingness. He is shaken by nausea as he sees small, bloody pieces of his heart scattered on the ground, making a path to a freshly dug grave, blue flowers tattered and broken on a cross of iron and there’s Cas sitting near it and he smiles, but his eyes are veiled and white and dead.

 

Dean screams and he only wakes up at the sound of his name on a familiar tongue and the sensation of fresh hands framing his face.

His eyes snap open and he sits in his bed, distraught and covered of hot, sticky sweat. He hears his name again and again and he blinks, puzzled, and suddenly he meets Cas’ gaze and it all comes back to him.

 

Cas is alive, he’s right by his side and he looks at him with such worry it shatters his heart. Dean trembles as Cas examines his face, his palms cool and soothing anchoring him in reality, his soft fingertips diving in the back of his head.

“Dean, are you alright?” he asks, frowning at Dean’s distraught heartbeats and rapid breathing.

Dean swallows hardly and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, just a nightmare” he says and his voice is tiny and weak and he can’t take his eyes off Cas’ face, soft and full of anguish. “I’m sorry I woke you” he adds, shameful.

Cas gives him a small smile and his hands stroke Dean’s hair, or maybe he’s just feverish and exhausted and insane, but Dear, it feels so soothing he lies back in the bed, his eyelids already fluttering again, moths that never tire of beating their fragile wings.

Cas lies next to him and keeps staring at him with wide eyes, his fists clenched on his sides as he doesn’t know what to do. Dean looks so fragile, curled up on the mattress with a sick heat floating around him and a flight of pure despair swirling in his irises. Cas wishes he could reach out to him but he’s afraid he might just break him, or shatter the moment and Dean will kick him out of the room, suddenly realizing the odd tenderness he showed since Cas came back.

 

That’s why his breath is caught in his throat when Dean moves closer to lean his forehead against his. “You’re real” he whispers and Cas hears how his voice shakes, and he feels how violently all his body trembles.

He softly sighs. “I’m real” he says and even though he shivers at how close Dean is, he is determined to make his ache stop. “And I’m not leaving. Never again.”

Dean has a deep sigh of relief and all his being seems to melt as he stirs again so his chin rests on the top of Cas’ head, and the angel is close to his chest. Cas freezes and he thinks he’s going to turn into ash as Dean wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him even tighter, curling his body against his.

 

And then sleep comes rushing in again and Cas’ eyes flutter and the last thing he remembers before falling into blackness is Dean’s heartbeats steady and melodious against his ear and the long breath of ease Dean has as he buries his face against Cas’ hair.

 

**X**

 

Dean wakes up and he’s immediately struck by how warm he feels. It’s not the usual cold, hollow space in his arms he’s used to, but a soft presence filling the emptiness of his chest.

He blinks his eyes still dry and heavy of sleep, and when he lowers his head, his heart skips a beat and the air gets caught in his lungs, and he’s suddenly filled with golden rain, pouring down on his soul.

 

Cas is curled up next to him, his arms folded against his chest, and God, his face is buried in the dark of Dean’s neck, and he can feel his breaths warm and silky against his skin, and his body pressed close to his, his soft hair tickling his chin, his legs tangled with his.

Heat raises like a wave of fire to Dean’s face. He freezes and he doesn’t know what to do. His belly feels tight as hunger begins to fill the darkness in it, and he remembers how he only nibbled tiny bites of his meal the evening before. He thinks that he could get up and prepare breakfast for both Cas and he, but seeing how deeply the angel sleeps, he can’t bring himself to move and wake him up by accident.

His heart races in his chest and it’s like everything he ever dreamed of, except it’s real and warm and breathing, and his fingertips are diving in Cas’ side, holding him close as if he was afraid he could drift away. A sob shapes in his throat and he holds it back, feeling tears of relief and bliss crowd in his eyes.

 

Maybe his heartbeats like war drums resonated outside his body, for Cas begins to stir against him, softly groaning as he emerges from sleep. He moves his head against Dean’s chest, as if he was trying to dive deeper into the blackness and he takes a deep breath into the fabric of Dean’s t-shirt, before he has a low hum of ease. And suddenly he seems to be aware of the body moving against him, or the breathing on his hair, or the fingers curled around his arms, for he freezes completely.

Dean feels his lashes fluttering against his neck and suddenly Cas slowly shifts back and he raises his head to Dean, who observes with a flutter of heart the way Cas’ hair is ruffled, how his whole being breathes of soft sunlight and honey. Cas blinks a few times before his eyes open wide when his vision gets clearer and he sees Dean only a breath away from him.

He considers the distance between them and their ankles tangled together, and a flush spreads on his cheeks. “I’m sorry” he begins to say, hastily moving away, but Dean holds him back, a nearly desperate expression on his face. He raises his head back to him, stunned.

“No, no it’s OK” Dean says and his voice is still heavy and hoarse of sleep. He gives him a small smile. “Good morning to you too” he adds, amused in front of Cas’ rosy cheeks and disheveled hair.

“Hello Dean” the angel answers, and a smile spreads on his lips against all his will. He curses himself not to feel ashamed but he can’t help it, it’s like all his being is now filled with sunlight.

 

The rest of the morning flows in a sugary haze, drenched in gold and laughter and stolen glances.

 

Dean prepares pancakes as Cas is sitting at the counter, chin resting on one of his palms, observing Dean with a smile still floating on his mouth. Curiously, the conversation isn’t hard to make, it all comes naturally, as if the last piece of the puzzle finally found its place, among the strong scent of fresh coffee and morning kitchen noises.

When Mary and Sam arrive, they found them sitting so close their shoulders are pressed together, Dean creating a heap of whipped cream on Cas’ breakfast despite the angel’s protest.

Sam and Mary exchange an amused look but they don’t say anything. They only come to sit around the table, and if Dean looks nervous of their presence at first and keeps glancing between Cas and them, he soon relaxes and it all flows like all of this had been this way for centuries.

He takes Cas to buy new clothes on the morning and it feels so odd to do such human, unimportant thing with a being like Cas, but God, does it feel wonderful too. He helps him picking comfortable clothes for everyday, as well with suits for when he’ll come to cases with them. Cas chooses a deep blue, silky tie and Dean is filled with memories of untamed hair and old barns and lightning and shadow wings.

They’re ready to go to the checkout when Dean remembers Cas should pick a coat or something when the days will get colder. His heart misses a beat when Cas comes back with a long trenchcoat clenched in his hands, a satisfied look in his eyes. Except it’s not light brown, but pure black and Dean can only think about are the glossy feathers he once saw spurting from the fabric.

 

On their way back to the car, Cas is walking by his side and he gets distracted by the blue sky and the birds and the sun and Dean has to pull him away from the road, watching over him like a worried mother. It’s like Cas is learning to live again and all that was dull and gray around him turned colorful and ethereal after he came back from the dead. Or maybe it’s just that tiny spark of human soul swirling with his grace that makes it all so _alive_.

Cas nearly bumps into a man as he turns his head to look at a shop, and Dean’s first thought is to grab his hand and lace their fingers together so he doesn’t drift any further into the crowd. He’s struck by how normally this idea comes to him, and how intense it burns in his chest, as if it was as necessary as breathing, and deprived of Cas’ touch, he’d suffocate. But Cas has walked to a shop front and Dean’s palm is empty and he clenches his jaw, burying the embers inside.

He rejoins Cas and he feels like choking on his breath as he sees what caught the angel’s attention: with careful fingertips, Cas is brushing against the petals of tiny blue flowers, his eyes opening wider as he recognizes the sweet, sweet smell of them, the softness of their touch on his skin. Dean stands next to him, his heart on the edge of his lips and Cas seems to linger a little longer before he feels Dean’s shoulder against his, and he remembers that he doesn’t need flowers anymore. He’s got all the faith and warmth he needs, so he turns away and smiles at Dean before he starts walking again.

 

On the evening, as Sam and Mary already went to bed, Cas wanders in the corridor and his steps seem to lead him right to Dean’s room. The hunter raises his eyes to him and Cas seems so shy as he stands in the door frame, his fingers curling and uncurling nervously on his sides. But Dean just has a small smile and invites him to come in.

And then, day after day, small things start to change. Life begins to evolve into something else where Cas never hesitates before entering Dean’s room at night.

 

Where Cas goes, Dean follows, and where Dean goes, Cas follows. There’s no place where there’s one and not the other, as if they were two parts of the same being, stitched together by some mystical, invisible thread. When one is gone, even if it’s just for a second, it feels like the room is too small and they suffocate and the feeling only goes away when they’re back together.

Sam and Mary observes their little show with amusement. It’s nothing like they saw before: it’s something beyond silent glances and arms brushing. It’s never seeing Cas enter his bedroom, and always finding both Dean and him awake at the same time. It’s finding them cooking or talking or researching for a case together, sitting close, whispering in some kind of hushed language only they can understand.

It’s catching Dean staring blissfully at Cas, his eyes filled with constellations when he thinks no one can see him. It’s catching Cas doing the same when Dean looks away, with tiny sparks of grace bursting at the bottom of his irises.

It’s seeing all their stolen touches, as if they craved it more than anything. It’s their fingers brushing when they hand something to the other, it’s their shoulders pressed when they stand next to each other, it’s them sitting curled together when they’re watching TV. It’s Dean brushing fallen leaves from Cas hair, and Cas touching Dean’s shoulder, and Dean fixing Cas’ tie and Cas leaning closer when they talk.

 

And as time has come for the monsters to roam the streets again and the Winchesters to go hunting at the same time, it’s Dean turning around during fights, his heart thundering, his breathing short and rapid as he’s always afraid something will happen to Cas, and it’s the angel rushing to him when he’s wounded on the ground, his hands cupping his face, his eyes nervously fluttering on his features. It’s seeing them fighting together, back to back, with some sort of eerie agility, as if their movements were linked by some incredibly strong bond older than time itself.

It’s thousands of tiny details, and sometimes it’s greater things, heavy of emotion and despair and longing. It’s Dean pulling Cas close in his arms when he seems a little bit more sorrowful than usual, and no matter if Sam or Mary are in the room, his fingers grasp the back of Cas’ head, diving in his soft hair. It’s Cas leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder when he feels sleep rushing in but he wants to keep on watching Dean’s favorite movies.

And they keep staring at each other as if the very sight of the other was air and water and fire, the blood rushing in their veins and the light in their dreams. It’s how Dean’s eyes trail over Cas’ face, falling on his lips, his lashes fluttering several times, and how Cas’ eyes sweep over him, looking at him as if he was the greatest thing in the entire Creation, as if he was holding a thousand stars in his arms and chest.

 

And nothing, absolutely nothing, can change that. Not even a swirling, hot portal appearing in the middle of the library when they’re laughing together over hot coffee and Jack bursting out of it, falling with a thud on the ground.

 

Dean doesn’t think, his brow is immediately furrowed and he runs to Jack, who sits on the floor with a miserable little cry of pain. When he looks up at Dean, his eyes are filled with great, golden tears as he cries out, “I failed. There is no way I can save this world.” He shakes his head, his lips a bitter, trembling line and he clenches his jaw of frustration. “I thought that I was strong enough, and that I could change the Universe only because I wanted it. But I was foolish and blind, and I realized evil could run anywhere, no matter how hard I tried to make it disappear.” He dives his honey eyes into Dean’s, “I am so sorry” he whispers with a voice heavy of sorrow.

Dean gives him a reassuring smile. “Hey, listen, it’s not your fault” he says, his hand on Jack’s shoulder that shakes of holy sobs, “No one can save an entire world. People do bad things, and you can’t blame yourself for that.”

Jack smiles bitterly through his tears. “I failed my duty, and now what am I if not the monster my father wanted me to be? I am nothing but a failure caught between two worlds.” He sniffs, and Dean’s heart clenches at the sight of that powerful being, so small and vulnerable now, “The angels will never accept me in their midst, and I feel like my soul is too dark for humans to love.” He raises his head to Dean, grief turning the gold of his eyes into a deep blue, “Will I ever do good in this world or the others?”

“You already did” Cas suddenly says, kneeling beside him and as Jack’s mouth opens of surprise, he has a warm smile that sends butterflies in Dean’s stomach. “You only wanted to help and do what you thought was right, and the fact it didn’t work doesn’t matter. What does is that you tried.” Jack’s sobs seem to be less painful as he listens to him, awed. “I’ve met many souls, and many had darkness in their hearts, but believe me, you’re not one of them.”

Jack smiles and this time, his tears are dripping with relief and joy. “At least I helped bringing you back to where you belong” he says, and he glances at Dean, who feels the fire roaring back in his heart.

“It’s the same place you belong to” the hunter says, his smile widening as he sees the astonishment spread on Jack’s features.

 

The Nephilim has another sob, strangled by bittersweet pride, and he looks at Castiel and he remembers the soft, low voice reaching out to him when he was floating in thick liquid, and the hand that touched his mother’s belly and the eyes that watched over her. He recognizes his protector, the person he trusted more than anyone when he was not even aware of life itself.

He lets himself fall against his chest and a broken smile spreads on his mouth as Cas has a little breath of surprise, before the angel’s arm circles around him and he hugs him tight, chasing his fears and bruises away. He turns his head and meets Dean’s soft gaze and a pull in his divine heartstrings makes his hand reach out to Dean, and if the hunter first has a surprised look, he then comes closer and wraps an arm behind Jack’s back, as the other curls around Cas. He lets a sigh of relief and leans his head against Cas’, closing his eyes as both the angel and the Nephilim’s warmth surrounds him.

That’s how Sam and Mary find them when they arrive a few minutes later. A little, odd family huddled up together, laced with improbable fate. Sam sees Jack curled up between Dean and Cas’ chests, and he sees his brother breathing in Cas’ hair as this one closes his eyes, his lips pulled up into a smile. He pulls Dean and Jack even closer and Sam thinks he finally found where he belongs.

Jack’s arrival shakes their habits just as it settles a new kind of life. Under the appearance of an eerie young man, there’s a curious little child and he’s more than glad to learn about monsters and witches and biblical beings in detail. His love for knowledge as well with his angelic abilities turn him into a formidable hunter and he soon becomes a part of their little group, sensing the evil creatures from miles away and turning them into golden ashes when they dare to shed his family’s blood.

 

Everything flows easily like a river, but one detail is left aside, words and feelings left unsaid between Dean and Cas as they keep holding onto each other with short breaths and blissful sighs and starry eyes, while fearing what would happen if they ever dared to make a step forward.

They keep on bearing the longing and despair, until one sunlight drenched evening.

 

A hunt made them drive to the ocean side, the bright turquoise coasts of Florida unraveling with the road ahead. After leading a ghost to peace, they decided to have dinner in town, as their eyes were caught by the neon lights and red leathery booths in a retro restaurant. The evening was filled with laughter and light hearts: Mary and Sam talked excitedly about local urban legends, as Dean and Cas observed them, amused, while Jack was perched on a stool, picking up fries with a wide grin and shiny blue eyes speckled of gold.

When they get out, Sam takes a deep breath into the salty air, closing his eyes for a minute, enjoying the sound of waves breaking against the shore. He then opens them again to see Dean staring at Cas, who has walked to the barrier separating the city from the sea. He sees the sunset light shining amber in his brother’s eyes, the wind sweeping over his hair and face that’s still flushed of laughter. And he sees such softness on his features as he looks at Cas that he thinks the time may has come to let them figure things out.

“Hey, Jack wanted to walk a bit into town” he says, and Dean turns to Jack, who first has a confused look towards Sam and this one’s eyes become insistent. Jack then nods vigorously, before he hides his smile behind his ice cream.

Dean’s mind is somewhere else and he doesn’t see Jack and Sam’s odd behavior. “OK, I’m gonna call Cas and we’re good to go” he says before he begins to turn to the shore.

“Wait” Sam says, grabbing his arm and causing a puzzled look from his brother. He has a small sigh and smiles at Dean. “I think you should, you know, talk about some things together.” He gives Dean a knowing look, “Alone” he adds and his eyes sparkle of mischief.

Dean opens his mouth and stares at him with incomprehension, before the heat rises to his cheeks and he tries to protest, before he realizes it’s useless and he lowers his head to the ground. “Alright, we’ll catch up with you after that” he mutters.

Sam has a little laugh that Dean didn’t hear in a while in his mouth. It’s soft and innocent, and pure of bliss. He puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t rush” he says, before he gives him a deep, encouraging look, “Don’t miss that opportunity.”

Dean has a little sigh. “I hate you” he says, giving Sam a falsely exasperated look.

“No you don’t” Sam answers with a grin.

“You’re right” Dean says, suddenly serious and grateful, “Thank you” he adds, his eyes filled with sunlight and hope.

“You’ll thank me later” Sam says before he presses his shoulder one last time and turns back, rejoining the rest of their family.

Dean has a little sigh as he watches them walk away until they’re out of sight. He then turns to where Cas stands, his back facing him as he’s leaning against the white metallic fence, strands of dark hair moving in the wind. Dean takes a deep breath and as he starts getting closer, he can feel all his blood boiling and his heart roaring like the tide.

 

When he finally arrives by the barrier, he notices the height separating his feet from the wide beach under him, and his stomach drops in the dark, though he’s not sure it’s the only reason for his dizziness. He tries to breathe deeply again but he’s shivering in the late summer breeze and when he turns his head to Cas, he feels like he’s going to dissolve into the silky wind.

Cas is staring at the sunset, his eyes reflecting the colors thrown across the sky: there’s deep orange like flames, and soft blue and lavender and bright pink, and among this nebula there’s the sun, golden coin thrown in the Heavens above, projecting long threads of honey above the sea.

And the sea, God, the sea is like a mirror that constantly shatters itself. Dean stares at it in awe, his breaths short as he looks at the waves moving and crashing against the sand, the foam soft white and the water turquoise and deep blue, the sunshine creating blades of fire among the wide stretch of agitated, liquid land.

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Cas asks and Dean turns his head to him, only answering by a little nod, and now he can’t take his eyes off Cas, looking at the amber colored sky burning his skin and eyes and mouth. “I always thought that the ocean was one of my Father’s most beautiful creation.”

Dean has hard time ripping his gaze from Cas. He looks back at the sea and yes, his heart does have another jump of fascination and wonder. “I have to agree on that one” he comments, and silence spreads its hummingbird wings between them, before he chases it away, “How do you feel?” he asks Cas, turning back to him.

“I know you’re not going to believe me,” Cas says with a thin smile, “But I’m alright. I feel good, even.”

Dean holds his breath and his eyes grow nervous. “What are you planning to do after that?” he asks, his throat tight and dry, “Not going on another angelic mission, right?”

Cas has a small laugh and he turns to look at him, his eyes bright and wonderful. “No,” he answers softly, “I swore to Kelly that I’d take care of Jack, and it’s my duty to respect that promise.” He turns back to the sea, “Besides, I don’t know where else I would go.”

Dean’s lashes flutter more rapidly but he tries to hold himself together. “I guess raising a Nephilim kid whose dad is Lucifer himself isn’t that easy” he says, amused, “I think I can help with that.”

Cas smiles at him once again, “Dean, you don’t have to do that” he gently says.

A tiny flash of hurt passes by Dean’s eyes. “Yeah, I guess I’m not much of a father figure but I can try” he says, lowering his head to the beach underneath his feet, “If you want.”

“That’s not what I meant, Dean” Cas says and he gets even closer to Dean, his shoulder pressed against his. “It’s just that...” he stops, searching for his words, his lips pinched in a thin line, “I feel like you’ve already done so much for me that I can’t ask you for more.”

“You know I did it because I wanted to, right?” Dean asks, feeling his heart thunder in his ears.

“Yes,” Cas answers and his eyes are honey-soft, “But I feel like I will never thank you enough for taking care of me the way you did.” His gaze grows serious, and he has a heavy sigh, “I don’t know if I’d have survived life again if it wasn’t for you. Coming back after all that happened, I just felt lost, and I thought I could never enjoy being alive again.”

Dean shakes his head and now the tears threaten to rise, big like raindrops during fall. “Don’t say that. Don’t say you’re here only because of me.”

Cas frowns and completely turns his body to him. “Why not?” he asks, confused, his eyes sounding Dean’s.

“Because I couldn’t save you, and you’re here because of a freaking miracle!” he exclaims, his voice a broken whisper, “And like it wasn’t enough, I screwed that up and now you’re stuck being half human.” He has a bitter smile. “Still want to thank me for that?”

Cas’ face darkens. “Yes, I still do,” he says, his words strong and certain, “Because you came for me when you knew it was dangerous and reckless, and then you made me feel like I belonged somewhere. I haven’t feel so alive in centuries, Dean.”

“You know I’m glad you do” Dean answers and his voice is so tender Cas shivers at the sound of it, “But I refuse to believe I ever did good in all this.”

“But you did. Why is that so hard to believe?” Cas asks, frowning deeper.

“Because I still think it was all my fault to begin with” Dean says, lowering his head as he tries to hide the blue emotions floating in his eyes, “I should have told you that you not to go on your own. I should have told you I needed you to stay.”

Cas’ heart misses a beat. “Then it’s my fault too. I never asked if you wanted me to stay in the first place.”

“Still, would it have changed anything if I had asked?” Dean says, hurt and despair spreading on his features.

“It would have changed _everything_ ” Cas answers, regret piercing in his voice.

Dean’s eyes dive into his and he has a small move closer. “Then I’m asking you now” he says, his face bright and golden in the sunlight, “Don’t ever leave again.”

Cas smiles at him and his lashes flutter like butterflies, and bliss seems to radiate from his face. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Dean has a bitter laugh and he turns back to look at the sea, as the sky turns into a deeper shade of blue, the horizon ablaze above the water. “I can’t hold you back forever” he says in a breath.

That’s too much for Cas, whose heart breaks at the ache in his stubborn little human’s voice. He reaches out to Dean and suddenly his hands cup Dean’s face, and his skin is warm, his hair soft under his fingertips as he dives his eyes into his. He can feel his grace and soul beating nervously, his blood rushing in his veins and his mind flashing of silver and golden lights and his hands shake as they hold the most precious thing in his life, but his voice does not tremble when he says, “What if that’s what I want?”

 

Dean looks like he's about to answer but then it’s like the world stops spinning and their surroundings grow slower and quieter and grayer and suddenly all he can see is Cas’ bright blue eyes just a few inches away from his face, and his mouth close to his, and he feels his breaths warm and soothing on his skin, just like he feels the electricity spreading from his fingers to dive into his skull, setting fire to the dark of his body.

He can’t move, all his limbs are static and noise and cries of awe. He feels like he’s being held by gold, by stars and he doesn’t dare to stir, for he’s too afraid Cas will step back, and God, of course he would prefer the sight of the marvelous sea to Dean’s silence and fire-filled veins. He doesn’t want to ruin it all, he can’t lose Cas because he longs for him so badly, he can’t let his heart wins, he knows too well how it always ends.

Cas’ mouth breaks into a bright smile and his eyes are filled with joyful tears. “Damn you” he whispers, and Dean would answer with confusion, but Cas suddenly leans towards him and then all he knows is that he’s pressing a hard kiss to his lips.

 

Dean gasps of surprise and even Cas has a little sound akin to his, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. Both their eyes are shut tight and if Dean first freezes of astonishment, his hands soon find their way to Cas’ sides, and he pulls him closer, his fingertips shaking on Cas’ already trembling ribs. Cas grabs his face more firmly, but always very carefully as if he was holding tiny birds or stars unborn, and he melts deeper against him, his chest pressed warm and shiny against Dean’s.

It’s like Dean forgets what’s happening with every second that pass, and it feels like falling into a dream, and another, and another. It feels like an endless circle of bliss and wonder. He imagined it many times, alone in the blackness of his mind, but he never thought it’d feel so unearthly and wonderful.

It feels like swallowing galaxies, or sinking into liquid gold, or running through fields of snow and honey, and his body is shaking of so many emotions. He feels Cas warm and alive against him, his angel heart thundering so strong he can feel it beat against his very human one.

Dean’s hands leave Cas’ sides so he can wrap his arms around his waist and he brings him even closer, as if they could collide together and burst into diamond ashes. His fingers curl and dive into Cas’ shoulder blades, and something invisible seems to move against them, smooth and cool like the waves, and Dean swears he hears the rustle of feathers in the wind as he grasps Cas’ back tighter.

 

On his side, Cas feels like he’s tasting the birth of the Universe on his lips: there was darkness, and then there was light, and it’s exactly how his world turned when he kissed Dean.

God, he was so afraid and it was like he was pushed by a force greater than his, and he dreaded the consequences of his desire more than anything. But now, all he can think about is his hands framing Dean’s face, and Dean’s mouth against his, moving softly and carefully, far, so far away from the blood and sweat and rust and tears. It’s his fingertips brushing against Dean’s short hair, and his breaths warm on his lashes, it’s the smile that suddenly breaks across Dean’s lips as he keeps kissing him, his hands always bringing him closer, as if he wanted to make him his, enfold him in the dark of his chest, and Cas wouldn’t refuse, he’d just curl in the softness of his red, glowing gem of a heart.

 

Cas gently pulls away to catch his breath, and he sees that Dean is as shocked as he is, staring at him through his lashes, his chest moving rapidly, his eyes damp of pearly joy. Dean leans his forehead against his and breathes into him, as Cas’ holds his shoulders, so afraid he could drift away, and under his palm, he still feels the mark warm and alive, and the tiny spark of soul inside him sings as it’s fueled of raw glory.

The waves roar near them, and the sky turned red and great of victory, long threads of pink and golden like gentle scars on the vivid color. The wind is warm and silky, brushing against their sore, swollen lips, and both of them feel their bodies gently whispering of tiredness, threatening to burst with all that joy and relief and adoration, but they don’t listen for once.

 

This time, it’s Dean who leans to taste another kiss on Cas’ mouth and they both fall back into singing waters and skies of fire, and Cas pulls him as close as he can, his eyes shut tight and he knows, oh he knows, that nothing in this world or the others feels better than this.

Dean would even dare to say it tastes like Heaven itself.

 

**X**

 

Dean listens to the waves breaking in the dark. The sun has set for a while now, and the air is cool and the water fresh on his bare feet, but he feels warmer than the stars.

By his side, Cas leaned his head against his shoulder, observing the moonshine on the ocean, his features drenched in the eerie silver glow. He breathes deeply into the salty air that wakes all his senses and, for the first time, he’s not afraid he’ll shatter anything.

 

Dean’s hand finds his and he interlaces their fingers together, putting his chin on the top of Cas’ head, and he closes his eyes, the starlight and moths shaking in his stomach.

“Promise me you’ll never leave me again” he whispers and he smells the sun and the ocean water in Cas’ hair, and he feels like drowning in gold.

Cas presses Dean’s fingers in his palm as he answers, “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Dean shivers against him, his whole being filled with light. “So for this entire life?” he murmurs, feeling like he could melt under the moon with all the flames in his chest.

Cas gently moves to look at him. One of his hands comes to rest on Dean’s cheek, his thumb creating circles on his skin as he dives his eyes into Dean’s, bright green and drenched with sunshine even in the dark of the ocean. “This life and all the others” he answers, his grace and soul swirling in the same melody inside his chest.

 

Dean smiles and he kisses him, again, and again, and again, for this life and all the others.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this it! I hope you liked this new story of mine!  
> Thanks to anyone who read, left kuddos or a comment, or even just clicked on my work! It means the world to me! ♥
> 
> If you have any question or just want to talk about a part of this story, come see me on tumblr: atenebrae


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